


Swings And Roundabouts

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Denial of Feelings, Divorce, F/M, Fic within a Fic, Future Fic, Infidelity, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Five minutes after we met I wanted to get my hands on you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2009. I've been carrying around an idea for a romantic comedy screenplay for a couple of years now; I've also been wanting to write an epic non-AU J2 fic. The two ideas meshed rather neatly, and here we all are. This fic spans the period 2005-2016, and contains UST, denial, angst, pining, and porn. 
> 
> MAJOR thanks to [](http://sloane-m.livejournal.com/profile)[**sloane_m**](http://sloane-m.livejournal.com/) , for soundboarding/cheerleading/nagging excellence above and beyond the call of duty. She held my hand through this from start to finish and her enthusiasm was what kept me writing. I also want to give props to [](http://thenyxie.livejournal.com/profile)[**thenyxie**](http://thenyxie.livejournal.com/) for audiencing, Ameripicking and ego-boosting, and to [](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/)**nu_breed** , for cheerleading and beta. Thank you, ladies. I absolutely could not have done this without you.

**JANUARY, 2005**

Jensen's waiting outside the conference room, kicking back and running over lines in his head, when he hears footsteps echoing down the hall. He looks up and sees a guy, vaguely familiar in that 'we're on the same network' way, but no name comes to mind. He's hot, if a little young, and Jensen takes a second to appreciate the view. He's been sitting there wiping damp palms on his jeans for almost twenty minutes, so the guy's arrival is a welcome distraction in more ways than one. Jensen's nervous. He kinda wants this gig. Okay, if he's honest: he _really_ wants this gig.

"Hey," the guy says, and Jensen looks up. "I'm Jared. I'm here for, uh, _Supernatural_. You been waiting long? I'm not late, am I?"

"No, you're fine," Jensen assures him. "I'm early. Name's Jensen." He stands up and offers a hand, gets a good firm shake. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, man."

Jared's looking around, a slightly puzzled look on his face. Jensen realises he's looking for other people, the usual pilot season crowd who should be here waiting to audition.

"Where is everyone?" Jared asks, cocking an eyebrow at the empty room.

"Been wondering that myself. Looks like it's just you and me." Jensen lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug when Jared looks at him. "I dunno, maybe it's different at this level. I've never gone straight to audition for the network before."

"Yeah, me neither. Huh. Okay." Jared shifts his weight from foot to foot, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, "So, Jensen. _Smallville_ , right?" Jared smiles at him, dimples winking into existence. "How's that working out for you?"

"Well, I'm here looking for a new job, so I think you can probably guess," Jensen says dryly. He wipes his palms on his thighs again, clears his throat. "Where've I seen you before?"

"Uh, _Gilmore Girls_ , probably." Jared's smile hooks sideways. "Five seasons now. It was my first job, basically. I haven't done a whole lot else. They're not using me much though, so here I am." He looks searchingly at Jensen for a second, then continues, "It'd be awesome if this thing takes off. I'm feeling kind of ... stifled, you know?"

Jared sits down in the chair next to him, sprawling out legs that seem a million miles long. Jensen looks him over, ignoring the flare of attraction, seeing the same signs he's been finding in himself of late: hope, tension, a kind of hunger you get to recognise during pilot season. _Smallville_ is an easy, steady paycheck if he wants it, but it's not exactly Emmy material. Not that he necessarily wants a gold statue, but the possibility would be nice. There's not a lot of scope for him to stretch himself playing Lana Lang's nice-guy boyfriend.

Jensen wants to push the envelope a little, see where this pilot can go. This is his second stab at it, and every time he looks at the script he likes it more. He really likes the Dean character; his first time around he went in for Sam, and that was fine, but Dean has an edge of humour that appeals to him. Nutter's interested, which is a huge advantage for Jensen right there; all he has to do is go in and not fuck up in front of the suits and he's golden. He doesn't know how good Jared is, but the guy has this air of sincerity about him that would really work for Sam. Plus he looks the type, all lean messy college-boy with the kind of face people like to look at. Jensen thinks if Jared is any good at all, then maybe they can do this.

"I know what you mean, man," he says, leaning over to nudge Jared's shoulder. "Time to stop playing second—hell, _fifth_ —fiddle, yeah?"

"Something like that, yeah." Jared nods. "Plus, I mean, this show looks really good. I like that whole urban legend thing, and the roadtripping, and just—it sounds cool, you know?"

He looks so excited, face flushed and eyes bright, hands moving as he talks, that Jensen has trouble keeping his mind on the right track. He really likes this guy already, which could be awesome. The trouble is he really _likes_ this guy, and that could be disastrous.

"Okay," Jensen says, shoving his concerns to the back of his mind for now. He rolls his shoulders to loosen up, feeling his own excitement start to build. He grins at Jared, knocking his shoulder again. "So let's sell the hell out of it and blow their heads off."

Jared's smile grows, brightens, and Jensen gets stuck staring at him for a second because the guy is just ... he's almost glowing, seriously.

"Fuck, yeah," Jared agrees, then bites his lip. "Um, sorry. I swear a lot. I'll try to watch my mouth."

Jensen laughs, determinedly not looking anywhere near Jared's mouth.

"Don't bother on my account," he says. "I'm not exactly Emily Post myself."

"Oh, good," Jared replies, obviously relieved. "Because I can't watch my mouth for shit." He winks, and Jensen chuckles again, and really, is Jared flirting with him or what?

Jared reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a few battered pages.

"You wanna run some lines, get a feel for each other before we go in?" he asks, his face a picture of innocence.

Definitely flirting, Jensen decides. He can't stop the little smile that crosses his face at the thought. He reaches inside his jacket and grabs his own sides, waves them toward a corner of the room.

"Let's do it."

 

* * *

 

"Holy shit," Jared murmurs as they duck out of the room a couple of hours later. Jensen glances at him and sees the smile on his face, brilliant and infectious. "Dude, we rocked that shit. Tell me we didn't rock that shit."

"We totally rocked that shit," Jensen replies, unable to keep his own grin off his face. "Did you see the looks on their faces? They fucking loved it."

"I saw the dollar signs in their eyes," Jared says, "which is just about the same thing. Man, we are so in."

"It'll hang on Nutter," Jensen says, biting his thumbnail. "If he wants the pilot, we're as good as sold."

"You know him?" Jared asks as they walk down the hall to the elevator. He punches the button and leans on the wall, eyes on Jensen. "You guys worked together before or something?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy. Smart. He's got a good instinct for what'll work." Jensen rolls his shoulders. "And he's got a reputation for having the golden touch with pilots."

"So call him," Jared urges. "We can do this, man."

"If he wants it, I won't have to call him," Jensen replies. "He'll call me. I'm not gonna push it. Trust me, if he wants it we won't be waiting long."

Jared looks a little frustrated at this, but Jensen's not gonna fuck this up. He knows how Nutter works, and he knows this pilot is too good for the guy to pass up. A warm, fluttery feeling starts to build in his stomach at the thought. His own fucking show. On the WB, yeah, but still, it's a far cry from a pity role on the show that he auditioned for and got turned down. Besides, he really likes these characters. It's a good story, and the creator, Kripke—he's a total headcase, but it sounds like he's got plenty of places for them to go. This could work.

Not to mention Jared is really fucking good, better than he could have hoped for. They spent maybe five minutes running lines while they waited, and it was obvious right from the start that they're on the same page with this thing. They click; they click so hard Jensen almost had a physical reaction the first time Jared seamlessly picked up one of his non-verbal cues. He's never experienced anything like it.

"Hey." Jared nudges his shoulder, and Jensen realises the elevator's arrived while he was navel-gazing. "You wanna go get a beer or something? I'm too twitchy to go home yet."

"Sure," Jensen's mouth says, against his better judgement. "Where?"

"Somewhere quiet," Jared says. "And somewhere that sells PBR."

The doors open and they step out into the lobby. "I know just the place," Jensen says over his shoulder. "You got your car, or do you need a ride?"

"Got my truck out back," Jared says. "I can follow you."

Jensen nods and leads the way to the parking lot; after a few seconds, Jared draws even and walks at his left side. It already feels comfortable having him there. Jensen smiles and lets the feeling grow.

 

* * *

 

**AUGUST, 2005**

"Jared, you in here?" Jensen taps on the door of Jared's trailer.

"Come on in, it's open," Jared calls out, so Jensen sticks his head around the door.

Jensen's wired; they've just worked for fifteen hours straight, but he's nowhere near tired yet. He's still riding the buzz of having this job, and sharing it with Jared, who's turning out to be one of the most amazing people Jensen has ever met. He doesn't normally hang out with his coworkers like this, not all the time, but he just doesn't seem to have a limit when it comes to Jared.

"Hey man, let's go get a beer." He waits a beat, then smirks. "Oh wait, are you legal yet? It's okay, I'll buy a six pack. You can wait in the car."

"Screw you," Jared says easily. He's shoving a few things into a backpack, but he grins when he meets Jensen's gaze. "Just gimme a second here and I'm good to go."

"Take your time, princess."

Jared flips him off, zips up his bag and shrugs into a brown hoodie not unlike the one Sam had been wearing earlier that day. Jensen squints; it's _very_ similar, in fact.

"Stealing clothes from set already, man?" he asks, shaking his head. "You kids today, I dunno."

"Shut up. It's comfortable." Jared shoos him outside and locks the door after them. "Don't tell me you haven't got your eye on that leather jacket, 'cause I know you do."

"Yeah, but the jacket is cool." Jensen tugs on the hood at Jared's nape. "This practically screams 'vegan college freshman', for Chrissake."

"Aw, now, don't be jealous of my youthful good looks," Jared says, hooking an arm around Jensen's neck. "Just because you're not as blessed as me physically doesn't mean you can't be attractive in your own way." He grins down at Jensen, a wicked light in his eyes. "You know, in dim lighting, during an eclipse, after about seventeen shots of tequila. In a room full of hunchbacks."

Jensen shoves at him, calls him a fucker, and Jared breaks away, laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Jensen can't keep a straight face to save his life; he knows that Jared's joking, has seen the open assessment and admiration in Jared's eyes on more than one occasion. It's like this is their way of dealing with what Jensen is steadfastly refusing to call an attraction. He's chalking it up to an overflow of the excitement they're both feeling at having their own show, added to the absurdly easy way they've clicked, both professionally and personally. It'll wear off soon, no harm done, and he's not gonna worry about it.

"Beer," Jensen declares. "And the first round's on you, asshole."

"Wait, what?" Jared stops dead. "I take it back, man. You're definitely the prettiest."

"Too late now, sport. You've gone and hurt my feelings and now I have to drown my sorrows. And I have a lot of sorrows, Jared." Jensen looks as mournful as he can manage at the moment, which isn't very much. "There's this total loser of a co-star I have to work with, for one thing." He fakes a punch at Jared's stomach and darts away, a laugh of pure joy escaping him.

"Hey!"

Jared gives chase and they run at breakneck speed through the set, winding their way around trailers and tents, dodging crew members clearing up after the day's work, leaving catcalls and shouts of outrage behind them. Jensen collides with the wire fence edging the lot, panting for breath and still laughing; Jared crashes into him half a second later, all but crushing him face first into the steel mesh.

"Ow, oof, get off me," Jensen gasps. "Can't breathe with your fat ass on my back."

"My _what_?" Jared pulls back and slaps the back of Jensen's head. "My ass is not fat!"

"Says the guy suffocating me into the fence," Jensen points out.

He shoves back, shoulders digging into Jared's chest for a moment, and gains enough room to turn around. Jared's mock-glaring at him, arms caging Jensen in against the fence, and the shadow cast by the streetlight is lending Jared's face an edge of darkness it usually lacks. Jensen goes still for a moment, watching Jared watch him, feeling that _click_ of recognition again. He holds his breath, wondering, half-hoping; Jared's eyes widen the tiniest fraction and he inhales sharply, as if Jensen's just answered a question he hasn't asked.

A truck roars past them, breaking the moment; Jared steps back and Jensen straightens out of his lazy slump, clearing his throat. Their driver pulls up in the minivan next to them, engine quietly idling.

"After you," Jensen says, sliding the door open. Jared grins and shakes his head.

"Age before beauty," he replies, making a sweeping gesture. Jensen chuckles and flips him off before climbing inside the car. If his heart is still pounding and his breath is coming a little fast, he writes it off as exertion, and not the way Jared's eyes stay on him all the way home.

 

* * *

 

They get dropped off at their respective hotels to change and shower the Winchesters off. Jared's new to Vancouver, so Jensen chooses a bar he likes that should be reasonably quiet and tells Jared he'll pick him up in a cab. Half an hour after parting they're stepping through the doors, music playing just loud enough to be heard below the level of conversation. There's hockey on the flat screens and Molson's on tap, and right now Jensen couldn't be happier.

"Nice place," Jared says, looking around. "How'd you find it?"

"Some of the _Smallville_ crew brought me here last year," Jensen says. "I like the atmosphere, you know? Quiet, low-key. I'm not much for clubbing or whatever."

"Yeah, me neither. And not just because I can't dance for shit." Jared grins at him and nods at a table toward the back of the room. "I'm gonna grab that table."

"Okay. You hungry? The wings here are good." Jensen raises an eyebrow as Jared's face lights up. "Yeah, okay, stupid question. Hold that thought, Jabba. Food's comin'."

He's halfway through ordering a pitcher and the wings when he remembers Jared was supposed to get the first round. Bastard. He heads over to the table with the beer and two glasses on a tray, deciding they'll just have to have more than one.

They're just settling down with their first drinks when there's a disturbance at the bar. Jensen looks up and sees a group of guys looking in their direction, muttering darkly, anger clear on their faces. He nudges Jared, who sits up out of his sprawling slouch in a hurry.

"What the hell?" he mutters to Jensen. "We just fuckin' got here, man."

"Beats me. I haven't said boo to anyone but the bartender." Jensen eyes the group with caution, deciding that yeah, they really are pissed for whatever reason, and if the two of them keep sitting here they're probably going to regret it. "Come on, this doesn't look good."

"We should go," Jared agrees, but he doesn't sound too happy about it. Jensen shoots him a 'what can we do?' glance, but truth be told he's not too happy either. They don't get a lot of opportunities to kick back, and he was just starting to relax. It's probably better if they go home and get a good night's sleep, but that's not the point.

"Oh man, you have got to be kidding me," Jared breathes, laughing a short, humourless laugh. He elbows Jensen sharply. "Heads up."

Jensen focuses on the here and now and realises that yeah, okay, they might have a problem. Those four or five guys are clearly not about to let them leave, though by the look of them they've already had more than enough trouble for one night. He can see scrapes and bruises and bleeding knuckles on more than one of the guys, and a few of them are swaying where they stand. Generally speaking, Jensen thinks that he and Jared are in some deep fucking shit.

"Hey fellas, we're just leaving," Jared says calmly, holding up his hands.

"Yeah, you are," one of the guys slurs, trying to smirk and mostly squinting through one eye. "'Cause we're gonna _make_ ya."

Jensen manfully restrains the urge to roll his eyes even as adrenalin starts to flood his system, the flight or fight response pooling in his blood. He feels Jared tense up beside him as the guys spread out around them in a loose circle. Without discussion, he and Jared turn to stand back to back, falling into the guard stance they use when they're doing fight training on set, taking on multiple attackers.

"Guys, come on," Jensen says, trying to appeal to their better sense, assuming they have any. "We're not looking for trouble here. We just wanna go our way and leave you to yours, okay?"

"Yeah, well, you shoulda thought about that before you tried to fuck with us," the spokesman for the group spits, fists clenched and jaw thrust forward belligerently. "Coupla pretty boys think you can start shit and then just walk away, huh? Well, we don't put up with that around here." He casts a look around the bar, but most of the other patrons are doing their best to ignore the situation.

"We just got here," Jared tries to point out. "We never saw you before, man. Whoever it is that you had trouble with before, it wasn't us. Let's just let it go, okay?"

"Fuck you, Stretch," sneers the guy to the left of the ringleader. "Fuckin' pussy."

He steps forward and gives Jared a healthy shove—or tries to, anyway. What the guy doesn't know, and what Jensen has come to realise all too painfully, is that Jared is a lot more solid than he looks. He barely rocks back on his feet, leaning his weight on Jensen for a moment to balance out, and his movements are so smooth it's a full second or two before Jensen looks around and sees Jared's actually thrown a punch.

Things get real interesting for a while after that.

They don't actually get thrown out of the bar, mostly because the bartender is too intimidated to come over and get rid of them. Jensen calls for an ambulance when it's over, because some of the guys look a little the worse for wear and Jared's hand is turning purple and swelling alarmingly fast. He doesn't seem too bothered by it; in fact he's grinning, a little sweaty, eyes bright when he meets Jensen's glance in the warm night air outside the bar.

“That was kind of fun, huh?” Jared says. “Got a little _Fight Club_ buzz going on now.” He fakes a jab and then winces as his hand protests, but he's laughing a little, bouncing on his heels like he wants to go another round.

“You're insane,” Jensen says, trying not to grin. “Fucking certifiable. What the hell am I doing here with you?”

“Basking in my awesome,” Jared replies. “Obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” Jensen shakes his head. “Dork.”

“Whatever, dude. You love it.”

Jared turns that blinding smile on him, all wide-open happiness focused on him, and Jensen actually takes a step back before he can stop himself. He doesn't know how to respond to that much _feeling_. Jared doesn't notice, still coming down from the adrenalin high, but for hours afterward Jensen is struck by that look. He has the disturbing feeling that this is just the first time he'll look at Jared and think, _How did I get so lucky?_

 

* * *

 

The first time he sees Jared take his shirt off, it's four in the afternoon and he's holding a packet of fake itching powder. Jared is on the other side of the set, inside the 'bathroom' area, with an ugly striped towel slung low on his hips and a makeup artist misting him with water. The strong muscles of his upper body gleam under the lights, and trickles of water from his wet hair slide down to disappear into the towel, taking paths that Jensen suddenly, desperately, wants to follow with his tongue. It's unprofessional, almost unethical, but he's never been so forcefully turned on in his life.

Jared looks over and grins at him, muscles flexing, dimples flashing. He strikes a ridiculous muscle-man pose. Jensen drops the itching powder and nearly falls flat on his face.

They get the scene in two takes, and Jensen all but runs off the set when Jared goes to get dressed. That's when he makes the decision, consciously, that this fascination has to stop.

He's just not sure how he's going to make that happen.

 

* * *

 

**MAY, 2006**

"I cannot fucking believe this," Jensen growls, staring at the TV. The scoreboard stubbornly refuses to change, the numbers glowing as if they're mocking him. San Antonio, 98; Dallas, 97. "Shit. Fucking Spurs."

"Aw, come on now." Jared pats his shoulder consolingly. "Don't be hating on my boys just because they wiped the floor with y'all." He slides his hand up into Jensen's hair, scrubbing hard and messing it up, and Jensen has to suppress a shiver at how good that feels.

"One fucking point," he grumbles, shying away from Jared's warmth. "That is not 'wiping the floor', dude. We almost fuckin' had it. I could _taste_ it." He growls again just for the hell of it, grabbing the remote and flicking channels to avoid the postgame rehash.

He can feel Jared looking at him, and a prickling rush of heat rushes over him. He's not stupid enough to return the look, though. It's the middle of the night in Jensen's hotel room the night before the upfronts, and they have no idea whether they'll still have jobs in the morning. Now is not the time to start messing around with something that might not even be anything more than hormones and close quarters in the first place.

He doesn't think about the fact that seeing Jared's face in the back of the van every morning is already the best part of waking up. Or how leaving him at the end of the day is getting a little harder every time. How being around Jared almost constantly is becoming more fun, not less, even when Jared drives him absolutely crazy. Or how he sometimes looks over at Jared during quiet moments and sees the same feelings in Jared's eyes, gazing back at him.

"You want another beer?" he asks, getting up. Distance. Distance is a good thing right now. Alcohol probably isn't, but it's not like he's gonna get any sleep tonight anyway. As long as he sticks to beer he'll be fine.

Jared follows him to the kitchen so quietly Jensen doesn't even realise he's there until he turns around. Jensen steps back a little, holding out a bottle; Jared takes it and steps forward again, encroaching on Jensen's personal space in a deliberate way that makes Jensen's pulse kick up a notch. The air is suddenly thick with the tension that's been swirling between them for months, unspoken but acknowledged, lining every glance, every touch, every hug that goes on for a second too long.

"Jared," he warns, sliding sideways out of the corner Jared's trying to box him into.

"Jensen," Jared returns, determination clear in his tone.

Jensen shakes his head, not meeting Jared's gaze, and uncaps his beer. He takes a deep swallow and can almost feel Jared's eyes zeroing in on his throat. The skin there heats up, starts feeling itchy.

"Leave it," he says; not an order, not quite a plea. "Okay? Just ... don't."

"Tell me why," Jared says. He doesn't move, and Jensen finally catches on that Jared means to _talk_ about this.

Fuck.

"Doesn't matter why. It's not gonna happen." He takes a deep breath and looks Jared square in the eye. "And you're not enough of a bastard to push it, so leave it." He sees Jared opening his mouth to argue, and adds, "Please. I don't wanna fight about this, Jared."

Jared lets out a breath and scruffs both hands through his hair, mouth twisted downward. He grips the back of his neck and looks at Jensen through his bangs, looking like something straight out of the dreams Jensen doesn't admit to having. Jensen stares him down, not letting on that it's taking far more willpower than it should to keep his hands to himself and his knees off the floor.

"Whatever," Jared says at last, shoulders slumping, something more than just disappointment flashing in his eyes. "You're probably right." He doesn't look like he believes it, but he's not pushing, and Jensen is grateful for that.

"I'm older. Of course I'm right. Not that I blame you, 'cause I am sort of irresistible," Jensen says, trying to lighten the mood. It fails when Jared scowls at him.

"Don't do that. Don't you try to joke with me. Not about this." He straightens up, suddenly seeming a lot more _there_ than usual, spreading out, taking up space in a way he rarely does on purpose. "I'll let it go because you're asking, but don't you try to laugh about it, 'cause it's not funny to me."

Jensen stops and looks at him then; really looks, and what he sees floors him a little. Or a lot. Because Jared looks a lot like Jensen does on the days when his own resistance is wearing thin. Jared looks weary, but there's an edge of hunger in the way his gaze follows Jensen's every move that's instantly familiar. Jensen's mind reels a little. He feels heat flaring up in his gut, and wonders just how blind he's been, to not notice this. There's always been something there, sure, but Jared has Sandy, and he's never considered that Jared might actually be serious about this.

"Hey," he says, keeping his tone quiet, serious. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't ... I won't joke about it, okay?" He shrugs uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just how I ... cope. I didn't realise."

"Yeah, well." Jared clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. "Now you do."

"Now I do." Jensen nods, and tries not to flush at the import of what they're not saying. He feels compelled to explain himself a little, now. "I just," he starts, and Jared looks at him, a trace of hope in his eyes. "Look, man. If it wasn't just us carrying the show, then ... but it is, and I just. I don't think it's a smart idea, is all. What with the pressure, and everything. I don't want to risk it. But, well." He tries to grin, but it feels crooked. "I gotta admit, sometimes you make it a little ... hard."

Jared snorts, seemingly despite himself, and Jensen loses to the flush as he runs back over what he's just said. He holds up one hand and covers his eyes with the other, turning his back on Jared to recover from the epic embarrassment only a truly awkward word choice can cause.

"Don't even bother," he says, waving his upturned hand. "Let's just ... forget this conversation ever happened, okay?"

It doesn't really encompass everything he wants to say; it doesn't even come close. But he feels better that they've finally got it out in the open, sort of, and they know where they stand. Which should not be right next to the extremely comfortable king size bed; not while his control's being tested with the knowledge that Jared is ... well. He doesn't need to think it. He needs to not think it, and he needs to watch some sort of organised team sports right about now.

Jensen moves back to the couch, flopping into one corner and folding his knees up to his chin. It's not so much a protective measure as it is a way to ensure he stays put without physically sitting on his hands. Jared follows him back over after a minute, taking the opposite corner and sitting cross-legged, flipping through channels until he finds some college football. Jensen allows himself a single look at Jared's lean strength curled up on the couch like a gift, then determinedly turns his attention to the TV and doesn't let it stray.

"Hey, Jensen?" Jared says after a minute. "Just, uh, one more thing and then I swear I'll let it drop."

"What?" Jensen asks warily.

"If we don't get picked up tomorrow," Jared says, eyes on the TV, "then all bets are off. Fair warning."

He looks over and meets Jensen's startled glance, and the dark heat in Jensen's gut spikes to a new high at what he sees. He draws in a quick breath, shaken at the sheer want unveiled in Jared's eyes for that one endless second.

Then it's gone as fast as it appeared, Jared's face quickly shuttered, and it's as if the whole incident never happened. Jared leans back into the couch cushions, drinks beer, and is generally the goofy, witty, insightful friend that Jensen's come to love over the past year. Even when he's saying goodnight somewhere around one o'clock in the morning, there's no sign that Jared looked at him with anything more than his usual warmth. But they don't touch, and Jared's gaze lingers before he turns to leave, and Jensen goes to bed with an unsettled feeling that has nothing to do with whether he'll still be employed tomorrow.

The call comes the next morning, a triumphant Kripke bellowing excitedly down the line. And Jensen is utterly terrified because, for the quickest of split seconds, he's so disappointed he can't breathe.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later Jensen is in Santa Cruz filming a movie, and he's feeling pretty good about life in general. And then fate bites him in the ass and throws him a curve ball when Danneel Harris tells him she's broken up with Riley, and in the next breath she asks him out.

 

* * *

 

The first time he fucks Danneel, Jensen feels like all the lights in the world have just switched on. The only other person who's ever made him feel like that is Jared.

Being with Danneel doesn't make Jensen feel guilty. But being happy with her—that's the part that feels like cheating. The worst part is, he doesn't know which of them he's betraying.

 

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER, 2006**

"Cut!"

Jensen takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, trying to quash his irritation. He moves back to his first mark and waits for Jared to get into position, running the lines over in his head one more time. It's lunch time and he's starving, so tired he's starting to see double, and he really wants a nap. They just need to get this one scene done. Please God, can they get this one scene done.

"Still rolling ... pick it up from 'Dean, will you just listen' please, Jared," the director calls, and Jensen forces himself to focus. Five minutes. They just need to get through the next five minutes.

Jared gets halfway through the line before he screws it up. Again. Jensen grinds his teeth and remembers to keep his hands out of his hair, because he doesn't want to waste another ten minutes getting a retouch.

"Hey, Jared, you think you can spit that line out in one piece sometime this century?" he snaps. "Some of us would like to have lunch before it's time for dinner."

He doesn't really mean it; he's just tired and frustrated and, just, it's a bad day. It happens. He doesn't expect Jared to take it so personally.

"Fuck you, man," Jared snaps right back. "If you hadn't tripped over your own goddamn feet half an hour ago we'd have this scene in the can already."

Anger is an unfamiliar emotion for Jensen where Jared's concerned. He gets irritated, sure—Jared can be like a kid sometimes, and Jensen yells at him all the time to calm the fuck down, or act his age, or shit like that. Real, bone-deep, choking anger, though—he doesn't associate that with this job at all. But right now there's the same sort of twisted darkness in his gut that he got all too used to feeling during his _Dark Angel_ days, when he would bite his tongue and hit a lot of walls in order to keep his job.

"Oh right, my bad," he sneers. "Because it was totally my fault that you were on the other side of the fucking set from where you were supposed to be." He points at the floor. "See these little pieces of tape? Yours are the blue ones. Stand on them in the right order and say the right words at the right time and it's called 'acting'. You think you can do that for maybe five minutes today?"

Jared's face shifts into a strange expression, almost familiar but with something a little off. He steps up into Jensen's space, and Jensen bristles back, and that's when he gets it: Jared's really pissed.

Well, fuck it. So is he.

They square off, Jensen's temper winding tighter and tighter at the thought that right this second they're wasting more time, but unable to bring himself to back down. The set is deathly quiet, nobody willing to get caught in the middle, and that just serves to make Jensen angrier.

"You wanna cut me a little fucking slack, man?" Jared says, growls almost, arms flung out wide away from his body. "You're not the only one having a tough day, okay?"

"If I cut you any more slack I'd be reading your lines _for_ you," Jensen says, and apparently this is the moment where he finds out where Jared's breaking point is, because Jared's stepping forward and kind of shoving him a little and Jensen's shoving back, and oh fuck this is so not how he wanted the day to go.

" _Fuck_ ,” Jared spits, his eyes narrow slits; he stands still for a moment staring at Jensen, breathing hard, then spins on his heel and stalks off the set, clearly heading for his trailer.

Jensen looks around at the shocked faces of the crew, the puzzlement on the face of their guest director, and decides he cannot deal with this shit right now. He follows Jared's lead, walking off set without a word to anyone, and when he gets to his trailer he kicks the hell out of his couch and throws all the cushions at an empty space on the wall until he's calmed down some.

When his brain comes back online and he can see sense, he feels like ten kinds of idiot. It's been a long while since he felt uncomfortable on a set, the first time ever on this set, and that's mostly due to Jared and this show being the best job he's ever had. He's never really dealt with the way he reacts to the buildup of petty irritations that happen sometimes. It's humbling to realise he's skating pretty close to the title of 'diva' today.

Jensen knows he's going to man up, be a mature, reasonable adult and apologise to Jared. He lurks in his trailer for a while first, though, trying in vain to not be embarrassed at his behaviour. Finally he can't stand it any longer; he crosses the short distance to Jared's trailer and knocks on the door hesitantly.

"It's me," he says, just loud enough for Jared to hear. "Can I come in?"

There's a long moment when he thinks he's really blown it. Jared's going to refuse to open the door, tell him to fuck off, something final and total and forever. His hands curl into fists of their own volition, because this is not how things are going to end with them. He's already preparing to batter the door off its hinges when it opens, and he's staring stupidly at Jared's noncommittal face in the doorway.

"Well?" Jared says. "Come in if you're coming."

He turns away, leaving the decision up to Jensen. He doesn't appear to be angry anymore. He doesn't appear to be anything in particular, and for Jared this is a very bad sign. Jensen feels kind of like he's stepping in front of a firing squad as he goes inside and closes the door, but he thinks maybe he's overreacting. Maybe. Possibly.

"Uh," he starts, sticking his hands in the pockets of Dean's jeans. "So."

Great opening salvo, there. A real winner. That'll win Jared over for sure.

"So."

Jared leans against the back of the couch and mirrors his pose, hands in pockets. His face is perfectly blank, giving nothing away. It's a foreign circumstance; Jared is an open book usually, to the point where Jensen had begun to think Jared didn't have any secrets. Now he realises, looking at that smooth, closed expression, it's just that Jared's never shut him out before.

Jensen stands it for approximately ten seconds before he starts talking a mile a minute, trying to explain himself.

"Look, I'm a fucking idiot, okay?" he starts off, and it's all downhill from there. "It's been a shitty day and I took it out on you, and I didn't think before I opened my big fucking mouth, and I'm sorry." He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, eyes still closed. "You're fucking awesome, and this show is the best thing I've ever done. I just, I have issues when it comes to arguments on set and I didn't handle it well, which is totally not your problem and, God, would you just hit me or something, please? We'll both feel better."

When he opens his eyes Jared's there in front of him, right up close, and Jensen can't stop himself slumping in relief, all the tension draining away in one massive release because Jared's smiling at him. Which is a stupid and dangerous reaction to have, but at this point _stupid and dangerous_ explains his headspace about Jared anyway so it's not like it matters anymore. Jared's smiling at him from five inches away, and then Jared's grabbing his shoulder and pulling him into a hug, and Jensen has to fight pretty hard not to just melt right into him. Jared's not making it any easier; he's got a hand on the back of Jensen's neck, which is fucking cheating because he knows via drunken oversharing how much Jensen likes that. His other arm is wrapped tight around Jensen's ribs, keeping him close, and they stay that way for a long time.

Two hours spent angry at each other and it felt like the world was ending; two minutes wrapped in Jared's arms and Jensen can breathe again. He'd feel totally pathetic if not for the fact that Jared still isn't letting go.

"Let's not do that again, huh?" Jared says after a while, speaking directly into Jensen's neck. "Because that really sucked."

"You don't feel it was a worthwhile social experiment?" Jensen asks. He winds his index finger through one of Jared's belt loops, idly twisting.

"Not really, no." Jared pulls back a little then to look Jensen in the eye. "I'm sorry too, you know. I shouldn't have been so ..." He waves a hand, as if seeking the right adjective.

"Dude, no," Jensen starts, but Jared cuts him off.

"No, come on," he insists. "I could see you were having a tough day, but I didn't help you out, and that's on me. So let's just ... not do that again, all right? Like you've said before, it's just the two of us out there. We have to support each other. We gotta be better than that."

Jensen can't quite find the words to say what's going through his mind; he just nods, and pulls Jared back in for one last, rib-crushingly tight squeeze, then lets him go. Like ripping off a band-aid. Jared staggers a little as they separate, and Jensen realises maybe Jared wasn't ready to let go. The thought warms him even more, and he smiles without quite meaning to.

"You wanna go see if we can put this scene to bed?" he asks.

For a fraction of a second there's a look in Jared's eyes that scares him; it's almost _yearning_ , and it makes Jensen's heart leap straight into his throat, and his hands twitch with wanting to touch. It's there and then it's gone, like a drop in the ocean. Jared smiles back easily, as if nothing happened, but Jensen remembers that look for a long time.

 

* * *

 

After that day, it's like they've crossed a line Jensen didn't know was there. Jared's always been an affectionate guy, casual touches and slaps and the occasional hug, but now it's like Jensen is a human teddy bear, there to be hassled and fondled at will. In any other circumstance Jensen would be enraged by the manhandling, to the point of throwing punches, but it's Jared, and he is apparently the one exception to the rule. Jared's like his kryptonite and his yellow sun wrapped up in the same irresistible package, and the worst part of it is Jensen's fast losing the will to care about the whole goddamn situation.

He knows Danneel doesn't really get it, but he can't explain it to her without it sounding like he's cheating. Which he isn't; he never has, and never will, because he doesn't ever want to be that guy. He doesn't think about the fact that there are things he shares with Jared that Danneel doesn't know, and that this is possibly worse than sliding between the sheets with him.

Instead of talking about it, he pulls back a little, stops playing off Jared's antics at public appearances and retreats to a position of amused resignation whenever Jared wraps an arm or leg around him. He can't bring himself to reject Jared outright, but he has to draw a line somewhere. Danneel is safe ground. Danneel is his future. Jared is stamped with _here there be dragons_ ; he's a place Jensen is never going to go.

 

* * *

 

**JUNE, 2007**

Jensen sits in his part of the communal dressing room, staring at himself in the mirror as the stage manager goes around calling out the five minute mark. He hears it, but he can't really understand anything except that he's about to go out on stage in front of hundreds of people for the first time in ten years and attempt to bring a character to life. There's no safety net of multiple takes and reshoots and editing; this is live theatre, and if he fucks up out there he's going to do it in front of half his home town with no takebacks.

For a long, terrifying moment Jensen's sure he's not going to be able to do it. Then he thinks for another, even longer moment that he's going to throw up. He thinks about the hug Danneel gave him before he came inside, her whispered, 'I love you' going straight to his gut like it does every time. He feels steadier, stomach settling at the thought that his family and his girl are here.

His phone, sitting on the counter, beeps and scares the hell out of him with its low-hum vibration. Jensen reaches out a shaking hand to pick it up. He has trouble working the hinge, but eventually it flips open.

It's a text message from Jared, on set in Vancouver. _Stop freaking out. You're gonna be great. Break a leg._

Jensen's only just managed to wipe the silly grin off his face when his phone beeps again.

_Wish I could be there, man._

By the time the stage manager comes around again, calling for places, Jensen's hands are still, his breathing is even, and he's ready.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday night Jensen feels a lot more relaxed. The run's going fantastically well, far better than in Jensen's wildest dreams, even if he is flubbing a few more lines than he'd like. The first reviews have been solid, he hasn't fucked up too drastically on stage, and he's starting to think he might actually be able to do this. It's never gonna be his first love, but there's something about inhabiting a character in front of a live audience, making them forget about the sets and the costuming and the knowledge that it's all an act, making them suspend disbelief to the point where there's an honest to God silence after the final words are spoken ... it's magic. It's one of the biggest rushes he's ever had. Jensen wouldn't go so far as to say he's comfortable on the stage, but he's no longer terrified of going out there.

His folks and Danneel have promised to see the whole run, and he appreciates the support. If a tiny part of him wishes Jared could be here, well, Jensen's a grown man and he understands the demands of a movie schedule. He shoves that part down and locks it away, and just savours the warmth he feels when Jared calls and texts him at every opportunity. It sucks that Jared can't be here to see it, but he'll live.

Jensen clears his mind of everything as he prepares for his first cue, praying as always that tonight is not the night he trips over his shiny black patent leather shoes or forgets his lines in the middle of a scene. It's getting to be almost familiar at this point; Lou is across the stage, his energy sharp and focused and easy for Jensen to play off, and the audience tonight is especially buzzed. Jensen takes that energy and uses it to bolster his performance, turns everything up a notch, makes the play thrum with humour, suspense and an edge of fear that's new to everyone on stage. It's exhilarating, watching the cast react, pick up what he's giving them and turn it into an energy of their own, until everyone is snapping out their lines and moving with crisp, exact, elegant moves. Jensen looks around him during one of his off-stage breaks and thinks, _Jared would love this_.

It's not until the end of the first act, when the stage lights go down and the house lights go up, that he understands why there's such a strange thrill running through the place tonight. Two-thirds back in the audience, a baseball cap doing absolutely nothing to hide the distinctive shaggy length of his hair: it's Jared. He's in the middle of filming a movie with Peter fucking O'Toole and his schedule is insane, but he's here. He's _here_.

Jensen doesn't get the chance to talk with him; the intermission is short and the director has notes, and before Jensen knows it it's time for places and the second act is starting. He's riding such a high, it's difficult to keep himself in check, but it's worth it when the curtain comes down and the audience fucking explodes.

Jared's the one who starts it. Head and shoulders above everyone, Sandy on her feet next to him with a smile on her face, both of them clapping hard enough to get the entire house up for a standing ovation. Jensen peers out from the wings and feels his body go warm. He knows there's a stupid, goofy smile on his face, but he can't bring himself to care.

Jensen holds it together through their bows, directing his stupid smile at Jared the whole time; then he beats a quick retreat backstage to get changed. He picks up his phone and dials, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "What the hell are you doing here, you asshole, and why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"That would take all the fun out of it," Jared replies, clearly delighted with himself. "Dude, of course I was gonna come down. I wouldn't miss it."

Jensen laughs, a combination of adrenalin from the performance and the shock of Jared's unexpected appearance making him giddy.

"Give me a few minutes. I'll be right there," Jensen says. "God, I can't believe you're here."

"Hurry up, I want an autograph," Jared says, and Jensen hangs up, his smile so wide it makes his face ache.

"Asshole," Jensen repeats as he walks straight into Jared's outstretched arms, gripping him in a bruisingly tight hug.

Jared laughs, a deep rumble in his chest that spreads through his whole body, and Jensen has to remind himself that they're in public. Their girlfriends are here. Hell, his entire family is standing ten feet away; this is not the time to lose his cool. So he lets Jared go far sooner than he wants to, pulls Sandy into a hug, and suffers through the pleased embarrassment of listening to his family tell him how good he is. Tonight, he doesn't mind so much because he _was_ good, and he feels it right down to his bones.

"What are your plans?" he says to Jared when they can get a minute to talk. "Do you have time for dinner, are you here overnight, or what?"

"I'm on a pretty late flight back," Jared says. "Dinner's possible. Got an early call, though. I'm gonna be regretting this tomorrow."

"Man, I can't believe you came all the way down here," Jensen says, shaking his head. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Hey, it was worth it." Jared knocks his shoulder, smiling crookedly. "You're not half bad at this acting shit, on occasion."

"Oh, screw you." Jensen punches him, as Jared no doubt expects, and then lets his smile fall away. "Really, man, thank you." He hugs Jared again because he can't not, and for once Jared is the first one to pull away.

"Would've been worth it even if you sucked," Jared tells him in a low voice, eyes bright, and Jensen has to restrain himself from hugging him again and never letting go.

Lou tilts his head at Jared when they head outside to sign autographs at the stage door.

"That's your co-star?" he asks. Jensen nods. He's still occasionally freaked out by the fact that he's working with Lou Diamond Phillips, but the guy's pretty laid back so it's getting easier.

Lou smiles, looking from Jensen to Jared and back again. "Huh," is all he says, but there's a wistful look in his eyes that makes Jensen curious.

"What?" he says.

"Nothing." Lou looks over. "You two just ... remind me myself. When I was younger." He tips a nod at Jensen. "Have a good night."

Jensen stares after him for a moment, puzzled, then shakes his head. Jared's waiting, and he's wasting time.

 

* * *

 

It's a regrettably short dinner, and a sober one—Jared has that flight to catch, and Jensen's crashing pretty hard. They have time for coffee afterward, slumped in comfortable sofas at Starbucks; Sandy and Danneel keep the conversation going, distracting Jensen enough that he doesn't forget himself and fall asleep on Jared's shoulder like he wants to. The now-familiar cut of guilt stings him again, and he reaches over for Danneel's hand.

The feeling haunts him all the way through the rest of the night; hugging Jared and Sandy and Jared again when they leave for the airport, going home to his parents' house and falling into bed. He's too tired for sex, and Danneel doesn't press him; they sleep tangled close, like always, and while Jensen loves the soft sweet feel of her in his arms, tonight he finds it difficult to sleep. He keeps seeing Jared's face smiling at him from the audience, hollering up a storm, clapping so furiously Jensen thinks his hands are probably still aching. He has a warm, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it's not from the thrill of being on stage.

When two-thirty rolls around and he's still wide awake, Jensen admits defeat. He can't switch off. He keeps thinking about tonight, and Jared, and the fact that his smoking hot girlfriend is lying half sprawled over him and he can't get his co-star out of his mind.

Danneel moves against him in sleep, her hand sliding down to rest low on his belly. Jensen shifts in response, his body tired but his cock hardening anyway. He wills it to settle down; his head is fucked up enough as it is. His cock doesn't give a damn what he wants; he keeps getting harder, body and mind at war until Jensen gives up and slides out of bed, padding quietly to the bathroom. He isn't going to wake Danneel up for this.

He closes the door and flicks on the light, bracing one hand on the wall above the toilet. He doesn't look in the mirror, because he already knows what he'll see.

After all the denial and repression and avoidance, it's simple in the end. Jensen closes his eyes and lets his hand drift down, and it's so easy it terrifies him. Jared's face, Jared's hands, those impossibly long legs and that perfect, perfect back, muscled and golden and begging for Jensen's tongue—it all comes instantly to the forefront of his mind. It's effortless, almost overwhelming; the images are pouring in, three years of conscious and subconscious want unleashed all at once, fuelling the heat in his blood and the speed of his hand. He bites his lip on a moan and strokes himself rough and quick, almost punishingly hard, wanting it to be over, wishing he could make it last. Wanting it to be real. He pictures Jared's hands on him, slow caresses, light teasing brushes of contact, the desire for the solid grip on the back of his neck that's developed into an outright need. His pulse hammers in his ears, and he turns his head and bites his arm to keep quiet, keep it hidden, because this will kill Danneel and he hates himself enough already.

It doesn't take long. Jensen imagines Jared on his knees, gold-green eyes looking at him with that familiar burning heat, not sealed away but out in the open, wanting him, demanding everything Jensen can give. He bites down hard and pulses through his fingers, knees buckling with the force of it, and when he's done there's blood on his biceps and he's dripping with sweat. He misses Jared so much it hurts.

He flushes the toilet and gets into the shower, and stays there until the water runs cold. When he gets out he still feels dirty, and he still doesn't sleep.

In the morning Danneel notices the bite mark on his arm and raises questioning eyes to his. Jensen shrugs and doesn't say anything, pulling a shirt on quickly. He locks all thoughts of last night away, buries them deep enough that he never has to think about it again.

 

* * *

 

**FEBRUARY, 2008**

Jared returns from Europe looking like a million dollars. He's tan and relaxed, a huge smile on his face when Jensen opens the door. Jensen doesn't even have time to say hello before he's being swept into a hug. Jared honest to God lifts him off his feet and swings him around; Jensen can't find it in him to complain, especially when Jared lets out an 'oof' when he puts Jensen back down.

"You weigh a fucking ton," Jared informs him as he steps inside the house. "What've you been doing while I was gone? Living on the couch, drinking beer and eating pasta?"

"Pretty much," Jensen confirms. "Except for the visit back home. I ate barbecue then. Lots of barbecue." He zones out for a minute thinking about it, smirking when Jared scowls.

"Fucker. I love your mom's barbecue. Bet you didn't save me any, either." Jared hipchecks him in the hall; Jensen toes the back of his knee in retaliation, throwing up victory arms when Jared trips into the living room.

"I did so," he says. "It's in the freezer. But you won't get any unless you're nice to me." He detours into the kitchen and gets a couple of beers, flumping down next to Jared on the couch. "Make yourself at fucking home, dude." He kicks Jared's booted feet off the coffee table.

"Bite me," Jared slings back, and puts his feet back up. Jensen sighs and pops the caps off their beers, handing one to Jared. They clink them together in an unspoken toast and drink.

"Welcome home," Jensen says, putting his feet up next to Jared's.

"It's good to be back. Europe is awesome, but I missed home, and my dogs." Jared nudges him. "And you."

"Aw. Heartbreaker." Jensen nudges back. "Wasn't the same without your ugly mug around, either."

"This is sweet. Should we hold hands or something?" Jared asks, and Jensen thinks for half a second that he's serious before he spots the twinkle in his eye. He snorts in response, but there's a tiny part of him that thinks holding hands with Jared would be kind of nice.

"So how was Europe?" he asks, reaching for the remote. The Discovery Channel comes on, some documentary about lions. "Did you guys have fun?"

"It was very European," Jared deadpans, and Jensen elbows him again. "Ow, stop that. No, it was good. Great, actually. We had fun. Sandy wore me out with all her shopping and I didn't fit into any of the rental cars, but other than that it was awesome."

"You have some kind of boring photo album or slide show or something to torture me with, I assume?" Jensen raises an eyebrow. "And you better have brought me back some duty free swag, bitch. I want vodka."

"Yeah, yeah, it's in the car. God, I'm not even in the door five minutes and you're demanding shit. Why do I put up with you again?"

"Because I'm awesome," Jensen says.

"That is definitely not it," Jared replies with a smirk.

He opens his mouth to say something else, then apparently hesitates, and closes it again. Jensen lets the silence stand, watches him fidget with the label on his beer bottle, the remote control, and run his hands through his hair about six times before he gives up and puts the TV on mute. The lion on screen is in the middle of devouring a gazelle. It's both fascinating and disgusting.

"Okay, what?" he says, and Jared glances up, startled.

"What?" he repeats.

"That's what I said." Jensen points at him. "You've got something on your mind, I can tell. What's up?"

"Well. Okay." Jared takes a breath, lets it out in a rush, and shifts around so he's facing Jensen on the couch. "I have something to tell you. It's important."

Jensen's heart just stops, for no reason, for the longest second of his life. He thinks, _This is it, finally,_ although he has no idea what Jared's going to say.

"All right," he says slowly. "Shoot."

Jared hesitates again, and Jensen wants to strangle him for drawing this out—whatever this is. He's finding it difficult to control his breathing, and his palms are suddenly sweaty as fuck. At least he's not blushing. Please God, don't let him be blushing.

"I proposed," Jared blurts out. "To Sandy. In Paris. And she said yes, and I said great, and I guess ... I guess I'm getting married."

He looks at Jensen with these big, hopeful eyes, a look that has apology and regret and happiness and nervousness all mixed in together, and Jensen doesn't know what to do. His mind is a blank. This is a scenario he never, ever saw coming.

_Why didn't he tell me this?_ he thinks, staring at Jared while his stomach does a slow somersault and ends up somewhere near his feet. All the better for trampling on. _I should have known this. I should—this is something I should have known._

He's been thinking, lately, about himself and Jared. Himself and Danneel. Where he wants to go, and how he wants to live, and what it'll take to be able to look at himself in the mirror every morning without cringing. This—Jared and Sandy, this is not good. It's not what he wants. Jensen feels the sudden urge to hit something.

Well. He's an actor. He can fake it.

"Jesus," he says, and smiles, because it is good news for Jared, and he's maybe breaking apart inside but he's not a total bastard. "Hey, man, congratulations. Wow."

He pulls Jared in for a hug; Jared clings to him, an entirely different kind of holding than usual. Jensen doesn't question it, just stays there until Jared pulls away. Jared's eyes are wet, which is predictable; he's not smiling, which isn't. Jensen has no idea what Jared's thinking right now.

"Hey," he says, thumping Jared's chest. "We need to celebrate. Go get that fucking vodka, man. I'll call for pizza."

Jared laughs as if he's surprised, and Jensen congratulates himself on being a fucking awesome performer. He ruffles Jared's hair as he gets off the couch and doesn't even pause when Jared slaps his ass.

"None of that, now," he calls over his shoulder. "You're off the market, sunshine. No more handling the merchandise." He shakes his ass for emphasis and looks back, expecting to see Jared grinning.

Instead, he sees Jared staring at him with a serious look on his face, a sad and lost kind of look, and it's all he can do not to turn around and pull him back into that hug and stay there for a week. And then throw him down on a horizontal surface and stay there forever.

"I know," Jared says quietly. He stands up and goes outside, and Jensen lets out a long, tense breath.

"Holy shit," he whispers, and it hits him properly. Things are about to change, for real.


	2. Chapter 2

**MARCH, 2008**

"Hey, birthday boy! How's my man?"

Jensen has about half a second to prepare himself before a very drunken and very affectionate Jared drops half into his lap. He's glad he didn't have a beer in hand; as it is, Jared all but smothers him into the arm of the sofa, sweaty and overly warm as he worms his arms around Jensen and gives him a clumsy hug.

"Oh my God, get off me, you disgusting creature," Jensen grouches, but he's got an arm behind Jared's back, hand hooked over his shoulder as Jared leans across his chest, keeping him close. Jared laughs into his neck and straightens up, slumping back and leaning heavily into Jensen's side.

"You love my disgustingness, don't front," Jared proclaims. "Ooh, beer." He lunges forward and snags Jensen's half-empty bottle on the coffee table and slugs it back with barely a breath. "Okay, that's gross. Why is this warm, and why are you drinking it?"

"I wasn't drinking it," Jensen says reasonably. "That's how it got warm." He shifts against Jared, making himself more comfortable. "What's up with you?"

"I'm drunk," Jared announces. "Sandy's gone home, but I haven't." He looks pleased with himself about this. "She got tired," he adds after a second. "She said to give you a hug for her, so that's what I'm doing." He leans over and hugs Jensen again, quick. "And that one's for me, so we're all even."

"Okay," Jensen says with a chuckle. "You better slow down on the booze, son, or you're gonna be worthless in the morning."

"Ah," Jared says slyly, pointing the empty bottle at him, "but I'm twenty-six." He seems to think this is a totally valid comeback; he puts the bottle down on the table and crosses his arms triumphantly, a smug grin on his face.

"Meaning?" Jensen asks, a grin tugging at his mouth. Jared is fucking adorable when he's drunk.

"Meaning, unlike some other mouldy-ass old folks around here I could name," Jared says with a smirk, "I can drink as much as I want and not be hungover. Because I'm still young, and you, my friend, are not." He leans back in and prods Jensen's chest with his finger. "You are oooooooold, Jensen. Over the hill. Past your prime. Long in the tooth. It's time for your mid-life crisis. Somebody bring me a red Ferrari and a blonde, stat!" he yells suddenly, startling half a dozen people nearby. "Jensen's having a mid-life crisis!"

"Will you shut up, you ass," Jensen manages to say through his laughter. "Someone might actually do it."

"Good! You could use them," Jared says. "You'd totally rock a Ferrari."

"I think Danneel might have a few problems with the blonde," Jensen points out dryly.

"We'll dye her hair, she can do it." Jared waves a hand. "She'd be hot as a blonde anyway."

"I'll run it by her." Jensen shakes his head and sees Steve coming by with his hands full of beer. "Hey Steve, gimme one of those."

"He okay?" Steve nods at Jared, now listing to starboard with a death grip on Jensen's shirt.

"He's fine. Just shitfaced. I'm trying to catch up," Jensen says. Steve salutes and gives him two beers instead of one.

Jensen pops the top on one of them and drinks deep, looking around at his party. He doesn't feel very different. He doesn't feel old, or like anything significant has changed. Thirty's supposed to be a milestone, the door to true adulthood; mortgage, wife, kids, all that shit. Jensen's brother is already there, but Jensen doesn't feel any particular need to do the settling down thing yet. He's got a steady gig on a great show, working with people he loves; sure, this season's gone to hell because of the strike, but that's temporary. He's pretty sure they're gonna get another season. Danneel's off doing her own thing, and they're doing fine, and ... things are good. He's happy. He's finally found a balance of sorts.

Jared mutters something into his shoulder, and Jensen looks down at him, scuffing a fond hand through Jared's hair.

"Dork," he says affectionately, and Jared blinks and looks up.

"You love me," Jared says with a snort, snuggling in closer.

"Yeah," Jensen says, helplessly, because he kind of does.

 

* * *

 

Two days later they get the call that they've been renewed for a fourth season, and Jensen feels something settle in his chest. It's their first early renewal, and the circumstances aren't ideal, but—yeah. For the first time he feels confident that this show isn't going anywhere, and neither is Jared.

Then he remembers the engagement ring on Sandy's finger, sees the matching one glinting on Jared's hand right beside him on the couch, and a long-sealed section of his heart forms a tiny, hairline crack.

 

* * *

 

**APRIL, 2008**

Jared's spread in TV Guide catches Jensen completely by surprise.

He knew about it, of course; Jared had crowed incessantly when he'd booked the shoot, and he'd annoyed Jensen every waking moment by flexing every muscle he possessed in the same five-minute cycle. Jensen had done his best to rise above and forget about the whole thing. It had worked, mostly; he's at the point now where seeing Jared lifting twenty-pound dumbbells in his trailer between setups is almost commonplace. If he doesn't think about it, or about the way Jared always seems to put in a little extra effort when he sees Jensen watching, then he's fine.

Then the fucking magazine comes out and blows his calm all to hell. Not to mention the video, which runs for all of three minutes and has him frantically picturing his grandmother in a string bikini just to be able to leave his trailer without embarrassment. Jared's been maxing out for a while now, but there's something about seeing him in those provocative poses, so clearly inviting the viewer to take him on, and watching him use that strength that brings it home in a way Jensen hadn't felt before. He's feeling it now, though, that's for fucking sure.

He doesn't mention it, and neither does Jared. They never talk about the thing that isn't happening between them. Jared's got a ring on his finger that says he's off-limits, and Jensen's happy with Danneel. This fascination, obsession, whatever—it's not significant. It's an aberration, a product of the two of them being in close quarters for so long and getting on so well. There's an 'us against the world' vibe to the show and the crew to start with; it's only natural that some of that should spill over to the two of them, given they're the ones keeping the whole thing going. It doesn't mean anything except that they're maybe a little too close to their source material.

Jensen ignores the fact that the source material says they're brothers, not lovers. And the fact that he can't picture a future that doesn't have Jared in it.

He doesn't buy the magazine, nor does he print out shots from the photoshoot and stick them up all over the set like they usually do to each other. He just pretends the whole thing isn't happening in the hope it'll go away.

Every now and then, though, he catches Jared watching him, and there's a look in Jared's eyes that Jensen knows all too well. He sees it too many mornings in the mirror. It's another reminder that while they're not talking about it, or acting on it, or even acknowledging it exists, there's a wealth of feeling between them that isn't just going away.

Jensen calls Danneel a lot more often after that. He makes an effort to go down to LA on weekends, and invites her up when he can't. He reminds himself of the things that are important in his life. Jared is one of those things, a big one, but some day Jared's going to be gone and Jensen needs to be prepared for that. This show is not going to be his whole life forever.

He thinks he should probably be relieved about that, but right now, watching Jared clowning around with Serge and a couple of the set dressers, all he feels is dread.

 

* * *

 

**JUNE, 2008**

Jensen checks into a hotel on his return from Pittsburgh. He has roughly two weeks to find a new place before shooting starts, and he's not looking forward to it. He hates moving house. But living out of a hotel sucks, so the day after he gets back he calls his assistant and starts looking through real estate listings, wondering if it's better to rent or buy. The show's doing well, and unless something goes horribly wrong this year they're probably gonna get a fifth season, so buying makes sense. Jared obviously feels secure enough to buy a place; despite all the time he's spent up here, though, Jensen's always been too cautious for that. Buying property means permanence to him. This is probably why he's never bought a house in Los Angeles. He might live there, technically, but it's not where he plans to put down roots.

None of that matters right now. Right now he has to find a roof to go over his head or face living in a hotel for yet another season, and he's too old for that shit. He wants a place where if he doesn't make the bed, it doesn't get made, and he has to clean up his own dirty dishes. Jensen thinks maybe he's finally growing up. It doesn't feel like the end of the world, like he always imagined it would.

For a day or two he considers Jared's offer to share his new place, but he knows that would be a really bad idea. He's already stupidly addicted to seeing Jared every day; more contact with him would probably put the final nail in his coffin, and he'd like to keep whatever scraps of sanity he's got left. He's grateful that Jared's letting him store his shit in the basement, but that's as far as he's willing to let things go in that direction.

He spends the next ten days looking at what seems like every empty apartment in Vancouver. Some are too small, some too large, some too far out of his price range; some are too far from the lot, or from Jared, or from anything at all. There's one place that's fucking perfect except for the fact that it's an hour away from everything, and Jensen's not willing to sacrifice that much sleep for the chance to have a great apartment. He's at his wit's end by the time Jared gets back into town.

"Just stay in the hotel," Jared suggests over a beer at his place, the night he gets back. "You did that for two years already, so what's the problem?"

"I don't want to," Jensen grumbles. "I want somewhere I can leave my dirty socks on the floor and they stay there until I pick them up."

"Gross," Jared comments, but he's grinning as he takes a sip of his beer. "So there's nothing out there that fits the bill, huh?"

"Nope," Jensen says gloomily, staring into the neck of his beer bottle. "I didn't think it would be this hard to find something. I mean, it's not like I need a jacuzzi or a mansion or whatever. I just need a place with a couple of bedrooms within a half hour radius of the lot"— _and you_ , but he doesn't say that—"that isn't gonna cost me an arm and a leg to live in and isn't a total dump. It shouldn't be this fucking hard."

"Well ..." Jared hesitates for a long moment. He chews on his lip, thinking something over, eyes flicking to Jensen and away again. "You could always stay here, you know. If you want. I wouldn't mind. I know you said no before, but, well. The offer's always open, man."

"I can't do that," Jensen protests automatically. He shoves down his immediate impulse to say _Yes, please, yesyesyes_ , because he knows that's not his head talking. "You bought this place to have a space of your own, man. I don't want to intrude."

Jared snorts. "You wouldn't be intruding," he says, flicking a glance at Jensen through his too-long bangs. "I could kinda use the company, to be honest."

"You sure?" Jensen asks doubtfully. "I mean, we see too much of each other as it is, some might say."

"That what you say?" Jared says, finally meeting his gaze and not looking away. Jensen shrugs, but finally shakes his head, unable to lie in the face of Jared's open appeal.

"No," he admits. "You're all right, I guess. When you're not being a total spaz."

Jared's grin is brilliant; he kicks at Jensen's feet, lined up alongside his on the couch, but it's no more than a tap. "Ass," he says. "So, come on. You can have the whole upstairs floor, man. I'm already set up down here, the spare room's just sitting up there doing nothing."

Jensen thinks about it, trying to separate his desire to be as close as possible to Jared at all times from the equation of whether or not this actually makes sense. It does, he decides after a minute; they spend a ton of time together anyway, so it's not like he doesn't know all of Jared's annoying habits. He spends too much time sleeping on Jared's couch already, or vice versa; this way it would be much more convenient for Clif to pick them up in the mornings and drop them off at night.

Also, he thinks, taking in Jared's hopeful face and the obvious signs of care and sorrow there, it might be good for Jared to have him around. They haven't really talked about Sandy—by mutual if unspoken agreement—but Jensen knows it must've hit Jared pretty hard when they ended things.

_This is a really, really, epically bad idea_ , he thinks clearly. _There is no way in which this can end well._

In the end, the decision isn't hard at all. He isn't even aware of making it. Jensen opens his mouth to ask another question, but what comes out is, "Okay, sure," and the look on Jared's face makes it worth whatever this ends up costing him.

"Really? Like, for real? _Awesome_ ," Jared says, and it's so sincere Jensen sort of wants to hug him, only he doesn't because he's not sure he'd be able to stop at a hug.

"I'll pay you rent," he says, trying to sound firm and at least a little businesslike. "And utilities, and stuff. And I'll move out as soon as I can find a place."

"Whatever, man." Jared waves his hand, all but bouncing in his seat, his grin bright enough to power three states for a month. "I don't even care. This is gonna be so great. We can work out together and kick back and watch TV and just, you know, hang out more. It's gonna be fun."

Jensen looks at him, all six feet four inches of pure unadulterated gorgeous, excited glee; he pictures seeing Jared first thing in the morning, with bedhead and sleepy eyes, fresh after his morning workout or the shower, and thinks to himself, _This is going to be hell._

 

* * *

 

One month later, after rolling out of bed more times than he cares to recount only to stumble into the kitchen and come face to face with a sweaty, flushed Jared panting for breath as he gulps down orange juice straight from the carton, Jensen is ready to revise his assessment of the situation. This isn't hell. Hell would be less cruel than this.

Jared is hot; this is not news, and Jensen has grown used to suppressing his reactions. But Jared seems to be taking it as a personal challenge to drive Jensen absolutely insane in as short a time as possible, because no matter what time Jensen drags himself out of bed in the morning Jared is always there, miles of gorgeous muscles glowing with exertion and smelling of clean, healthy perspiration, and Jensen's finding it harder and harder to keep his hands to himself.

It's not like Jared parades around half naked, or tries to flirt, or does anything untoward at all. Most of the time they just hang out, watching TV and playing guitar and kicking each other's asses on Jared's PS3. Jensen just ... notices things. Jared's hands; the sharp cut of his hips over low-hanging shorts; the soft, vulnerable skin along his sides, briefly visible through the wide armholes of Jared's sleeveless UT sweatshirt. He sees these things and it's hot—of course it is, Jared will be hot when he's seventy—but there are other feelings, harder to rein in, that are coming to the surface these days. Concern, when Jared pushes himself too hard. Gratitude when Jensen comes downstairs and finds a steaming cup of coffee already sitting on the kitchen counter. A kind of relaxed, lazy contentment on the weekends, watching from the deck while Jared runs around the yard with the dogs. Stupid amounts of affection when he walks into the living room and finds Jared asleep on the couch, a _Spongebob_ marathon playing softly on the TV.

He sees Jared noticing him back, quick silent glances that take him in and keep a part of him when Jared looks away, and instead of freaking out about it Jensen feels—settled. Expectant. Happy.

That's the problem: the incontestable proof that this isn't just about sex. True, there's plenty of hormones floating through the air; there are days when he wants to scream with frustration, the atmosphere so thick with tension that neither of them can breathe without the other getting hard. Jared's never crossed the line since Jensen first told him no, back when they got renewed for the second season. He's respected Jensen's boundaries, even if he sometimes looks at Jensen with eyes full of everything they're avoiding, making Jensen's head spin. That doesn't make things any easier when it's just the two of them, night after night, nothing and no-one to stop them from taking some friendly tussling just a little too far.

If it were just physical, Jensen could deal. He's been attracted to people before, and sometimes he's followed up on it, sometimes not. It's always faded after a few weeks, a few months at most, or after he sees the person in a situation where they're less than perfect, junking the image of them he has in his mind.

With Jared, even though Jensen knows all of his disgusting habits and has seen him in the absolute worst state he can imagine, even to the point of honestly wanting to punch him in the face—it just doesn't matter. He still wants to be around Jared as much as possible, and it's an effort to maintain some sort of personal, separate space where the two of them aren't automatically together all the time. After a month of waking up to Jared's smiles and fresh brewed coffee and the silence Jensen needs to function in the morning, it's becoming more and more difficult to imagine ever wanting to leave. And Jared's made it pretty clear he doesn't mind if Jensen stays there permanently—or as Jared puts it, " _Will you please buy a fucking bed already and stop sleeping on the floor?_ " and then actually buying one for him when Jensen procrastinates.

Add to that Jared's undeniable attraction that keeps getting stronger with every passing day and, well. Jensen is in trouble. As the weeks pass and their living arrangements continue to work out extremely well, and Jared continues to be jaw-droppingly hot and far too easy to share a house with, Jensen realises that something is going to have to give, or else he's going to accost Jared in the hallway and suck on his collarbones until they actually come _out_.

Which is a really gross image, now that he thinks about it, but the sentiment remains the same.

It takes Danneel all of five seconds to get the lay of the land the first time she comes up for the weekend. Jared is cooking dinner, and Jensen is getting in his way—or 'helping', as he innocently calls it; he turns around to say something and catches Danneel with a look on her face that he can't quite read.

"What?" Jensen asks defensively. He looks at his shirt, checking for food splatters, but there's nothing. "What's the matter?"

Danneel raises an eyebrow at him, and Jensen gets even more confused. He darts a quick look at Jared, but he doesn't seem to have heard Jensen's question. Jensen looks back at Danneel, a question on his lips.

"Never mind," she says, beating him to the punch. There's a smile on her face, but it's twisted, and her eyes have a sheen to them that makes Jensen's heart clench. He takes a step toward her, but before he can do anything she shakes herself and says, "How much longer, Jared? I'm about to start chewing my own arm off here."

"Aw, Dan, you don't have to resort to the coyote ugly escape, hon," Jared jokes, spinning around to face her. He leans back against the kitchen counter, leaning back on his hands. "If you want to get away from Jensen, all you have to do is ask." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively in a way that makes him look scarily like Groucho Marx, and Danneel breaks up into giggles.

Jensen laughs as well, because Jared is ridiculous, but he also notices the way the apron Jared's wearing hugs his slim hips, and the way the veins on his forearms stand out a little with the effort of holding himself up. Jensen makes a determined effort to look away, and carefully keeps his eyes on the floor for the next few minutes, willing himself to get a grip. He shouldn't be lusting after his roommate when his girlfriend is in the same fucking room. He shouldn't be doing it at all, period, because _he has a girlfriend_ , one he loves and who is kinder and more patient than he deserves. It's just—it's Jared. Jared is so far beyond any pigeonhole Jensen's ever tried to fit him into, he's given up trying. Jared is a weakness, an addiction, and Jensen knows it but he can't bring himself to leave.

Later, when they're in bed, Danneel smiles and shakes her head when Jensen runs his hand suggestively down her leg.

"I don't think so," she whispers, and there's that sad smile again. "Not tonight."

Jensen leans up on one elbow and brushes the hair away from her face. "You feeling all right?" he asks. “You were pretty quiet at dinner.”

"Yeah." She captures his hand and kisses the palm, holding it to her chest. "Just a little tired, is all."

"Okay," Jensen says, frowning, but he lies back down anyway and gathers her in close.

Danneel's quiet for a minute, her soft breathing lulling Jensen into a light doze. She shifts against him, tucking her face into his neck.

“You really like living here, don't you?”

Jensen tenses involuntarily. “Yeah. It's working out okay.”

“Better than okay,” Danneel says. “You guys are like the perfect housemates. It's a little scary to watch, actually.” She laughs, but it's short-lived, and Jensen doesn't hear any humour in it.

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asks, heart thumping hard and fast.

“No,” Danneel says, with a sigh. “I guess I'm just … surprised.” She kisses his chest and settles down again. “Thought you would've been getting sick of each other by now.”

Danneel snuggles close, her body half covering his in an unusually clingy position. She holds him tightly and pushes her face deeper into his neck, and Jensen tries to ignore the feeling of being smothered and concentrates on getting some sleep.

 

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER, 2008**

There's a moment when Jensen comes out of wardrobe, hair perfectly coiffed and a frankly embarrassing amount of makeup on, when he feels really fucking nervous. He checks himself out in every reflective surface on his way to set, stepping carefully so as not to ruin the shine on his shoes. He's unaccountably shy about being Dean Smith, especially in this getup; Dean Winchester is comfortable, a known quantity, the clothes and the attitude as familiar as Jensen's own. Dean Smith is something of a stranger to him, regardless of the hints of Winchester underneath, and he hasn't yet connected all the dots between them. There's more of himself in Dean Smith than Jensen's entirely easy with, but he doesn't have time to change it now.

So yeah, he's a little shy. A lot of the initial shock value of this script relies on how very different Dean Smith looks; that corresponds directly to how pretty Jensen can be, and he's never liked that sort of focus. He likes the gritty, dull filters the show normally makes use of, and the way he only has to shave every second day, and how digital film makes him look his age. Dean looks real instead of glamorous, and Jensen likes that. He hasn't felt this much out of place in years. He wants to pull at his tie, adjust his suspenders, run a hand through his hair; he doesn't do any of it, just grits his teeth and makes himself walk with his head up, as if this is nothing new.

He spots Jared lounging in his chair off to the side, thumbs flying as he sends a text message. Jensen sits gingerly in his own chair and stares at the crisp creases in his suit pants. They look sharp enough to cut. He wishes for the weight and warmth of Dean's leather jacket and feels like an idiot for caring. It's just work, after all. Just a costume, and a slightly different character. But the fact remains that he feels vulnerable like this, somehow exposed, and it's an unfamiliar sensation.

Then Jared looks up and sees him for the first time, and Jensen's world grinds to a halt. There's that look in Jared's eyes, the one that says everything they've agreed not to say. Not that it matters; the way Jared looks him over from head to foot and back again, slow and scorching, makes words kind of incidental anyway. Jensen is fighting not to blush by the time Jared meets his eyes again.

"S'weird," Jensen mutters, plucking at the tie, making a face. "I feel too ... too clean, or something."

"Looks good, though," is all Jared says, but it's more than enough. Well, that, and the way he keeps sneaking glances at Jensen every few seconds, each time sending a thrill through Jensen's body that keeps him on edge until the setup's done and they're ready to roll.

 

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER, 2009**

_"Hey Jensen, it's me. Buuuuuuuut, you already know that, right? Did you miss my call or did you just not want to pick up? Because this is the fifth time I've called you today and this is pretty much avoidance right here._

_"I'm seeing the news reports, man. I'm looking at Danneel's Twitter right now. I ... look, J, I know that you're quiet about some shit and all, and maybe you didn't want to jinx it, and that's cool, but—it really would've been good to know about this, you know? It might've changed some things._

_"Anyway, uh. I'm about to run out of time, so just, I dunno, gimme a call. When you can. If you want. Or I'll see you at home later, I guess._

_"Sorry. I'm a little drunk right now. Don't laugh at me, okay? Just ... don't laugh._

_"Bye._ "

 

* * *

 

**MARCH, 2010**

When Jared and Genevieve get engaged in early 2010, Jensen's only a little surprised. He knows Jared was hurt when Jensen didn't tell him about proposing to Danneel—although Jensen didn't know about Sandy until that was already a done deal, but who's counting?—and he still remembers the odd inflection in Jared's voice on that message, when he'd talked about it changing things. He doesn't think Jared's doing it for spite or one-upmanship or whatever—Genevieve is good for Jared, and he clearly dotes on her—but Jensen is uneasy with the way things stand. He's known Danneel for a decade, has been in a relationship with her for four years; they live together when the show's on hiatus, if Danneel's not working. They know each other's families. They have a dog, for crying out loud. Jensen's pretty sure Danneel already has their kids' names picked out, and he's pretty sure he'll like them. He and Danneel _fit_.

Jared and Genevieve have known each other for a year, and most of the time they've spent together has been at work. They don't live together, although that was the plan when Jensen moved out of Jared's house. He doesn't know what happened there, and he doesn't plan to ask. Genevieve's met Jared's parents, but Jared doesn't know her family at all. Jensen has a sneaking suspicion that Genevieve is scared of Harley and Sadie, which is frankly ridiculous but doesn't bode well. He's just ... doubtful, is all. He wants it to work out for them, he really does; it's just his pessimistic side being unnecessarily gleeful about the shortcomings he can see, and Jensen can't bring himself to ignore those thoughts even though he feels like the lowest creature on earth.

He starts to avoid spending a lot of time with Jared and Genevieve as a couple. It's not difficult; he and Danneel are already making plans for the wedding, and there's a lot to do. Where before he would spend almost every night hanging out with Jared after work, now he goes home to Danneel's voice on the phone when she's filming, and home-cooked food and seriously awesome shoulder massages when she's not, and he can't bring himself to regret that.

On set things are still normal; they still click better than anyone else Jensen's ever worked with, and Jared still drives him up the wall in a thousand ways, but it's different now. They've never really focused on anyone besides each other while they were still filming the show. Until now it's been like living in a bubble, cut off from the world six days a week with the odd weekend off here and there, and then escaping for a few hours of normality and sleep before starting the whole cycle over again. Now that they're both committed, it's changing the way they do things.

They don't finish each other's sentences anymore. They don't hang all over each other, invade each other's space, make as many lewd jokes about pining for each other's bodies. Jensen knows it's better this way, easier to keep some badly needed distance between them, but he also misses the silliness, the stuff that makes Jensen's face and sides ache from laughing. Their relationship is that of grown up, professional actors now, and while Jensen recognises the shift was probably inevitable, he mourns it anyway.

 

* * *

 

**MAY, 2010**

It's nearing eleven, and Jensen's kind of drunk. Not falling-down-drunk or embarrassing-karaoke-drunk, just loose and relaxed, laughing a little too loud and telling some of the more off-colour jokes in his repertoire. What the hell; it's the end of an era, he's got a right to unwind. After five years with this bunch, they've probably seen all of his most embarrassing moments anyway.

Jared's out mingling with the crowd, torturing people with his 'dance' moves and getting phone numbers and email addresses and as many hugs as he can. Jensen's done his rounds once already; he's content to sit here and kick back for a while before he goes around again, catching the people he missed the first time, saying his goodbyes. He wants to space it out a little, avoid the big dramatic tear-jerker farewell scene. Low-key is, well, key. Also, he's not entirely sure he can stand up right now, so. Sitting here for a while longer is good.

Jared appears at his elbow a moment later as if by magic, as if by thinking of him Jensen can summon him instantly. He has the vague thought that this would be an awesome super power, right up there with invisibility, telekinesis and flying, and then Jared's sprawling out in the chair next to him and reaching over to drink the rest of Jensen's beer, and Jensen loses his train of thought, because Jared. Jared is leaving Vancouver tomorrow, and everything is going to change.

This is their last chance, Jensen realises suddenly. Right now, right here, is the last opportunity they're going to have before they're not _them_ anymore. Tomorrow they go from being 'JarednJensen' to being two separate entities again, permanently, and their secure, isolated little bubble will burst. Jensen's just drunk enough that the thought makes his throat a little tight. He's happy to be going home, finally, and he sure as hell isn't going to miss the endless Canadian winters, but holy shit, he realises as he looks around the room, he is going to miss this.

"It's over, huh," Jared says, reading his mind as usual.

"Yeah," Jensen sighs. He slants a look in Jared's direction. "You think we did the right thing?"

"Dude." Jared leans in, one arm heavy over Jensen's shoulders. "Five seasons is enough, J. Kripke didn't want six. I didn't want six. You sure as hell couldn't hack another year up here." He grips Jensen's neck lightly, gives him a gentle shake. "Stop feeling guilty about it. It wasn't down to you."

"Yeah, but—"

"Yeah, but, nothing," Jared interrupts. "Look around, man. Everyone's tired. It was an awesome show and it had an awesome run, but now we all wanna get some sleep. We've earned that sleep, Jensen. Don't you go trying to take it away now. I've been dreaming of sleeping in for weeks. And yeah, that is just as weird as it sounds, but just shut up and don't fuck with me on this."

Jensen huffs out a laugh and shuts his eyes, leaning into Jared's shoulder. The smell of beer and sweat and sugar is the same as always. Jensen's pretty sure he could identify Jared in total darkness just by his scent. That's a weird thought, but he's drunk enough that he doesn't care. Jared wouldn't mind anyway; he'd probably try to set up an experiment just to see if Jensen could.

This feels like old times, as if the past year never happened. Jensen wants to wrap himself in this feeling and live here forever. Jared props his chin on Jensen's head and curls an arm around his back, his hand coming around his ribs and resting on Jensen's chest, and that makes it even better. They haven't touched like this in months.

"What the hell is Misha doing?" Jared asks a few minutes later. "Is that some kind of interpretive dance or what?"

"Where Misha's concerned, I've learned it's better not to ask," Jensen says. "The answers are always more terrifying than anything I could think of."

"Yeah, but you have no imagination," Jared points out airily. "I bet I could come up with a good answer for ... whatever it is he's trying to do over there."

They watch for a few minutes in silence as Misha, talking animatedly with a group of people across the room, starts making stabbing motions with his hands and then leaps around a few times like he's a fucking gazelle, or something. Jensen peers into the neck of his beer bottle and wonders if someone slipped him a tab of acid while he wasn't looking. He kind of hopes they did because otherwise, _damn_. And if he isn't high, then he damn well hopes Misha is, because nobody should be doing that shit stone cold sober.

"I take it back," Jared says after another moment, still staring across at Misha. "I can't think of a fucking thing that might explain that."

Jensen braves another look. Misha is now straddling a chair like it's a pony, pretending to whip its nonexistent rump.

"You know what?" Jensen says, tearing his eyes away. "Let's never speak of this again. Ever. Let's just allow this moment to die a natural, unholy death and forget it ever happened."

"Agreed," Jared says solemnly, shuddering as he looks away from Misha. Their eyes meet, Jared's sparkling with humour and affection, and Jensen feels a rush of warmth and want so strong he literally sways closer, almost too close for comfort, for politeness, for friends.

Jensen checks himself, pulls back, and does a quick, automatic scan of the room for Genevieve. She's nowhere around, thank God, and nobody else seems to have noticed anything. But when he looks back, Jared's eyes are still on him, serious now, so fucking serious, and Jensen's heart leaps into his throat as he realises that all the restraint and caution of the past five years is about to go flying out the proverbial window. And he's going to let it happen.

"Speaking of things that shouldn't be spoken of," Jared murmurs, and suddenly his arm is tightening around Jensen's back, dragging him closer to speak quietly in his ear. "Jensen, we have to—I want—"

"Boys, boys, boys!"

Sera appears out of nowhere behind them and leans in close, her face flushed a rosy pink. "Are we gossiping? Can I join in?"

Jared lets Jensen go when he shifts back, shooting him a look that promises their conversation isn't over. Jensen doesn't know what the hell to do; he's so used to ignoring those flares of attraction that it feels strange, after so long, to be contemplating action. Jared doesn't seem to be experiencing the same problem; his eyes keep returning to Jensen over and over even as he's laughing and talking with Sera, even when she takes his hand and drags him out of his seat to dance with her. Jensen can't bring himself to look away until he loses sight of Jared in the dim lighting and the crowd.

"Lost your handsome prince?"

Bob Singer sits down in Jared's seat. Jensen spares a moment to ponder how the space next to him is always Jared's, no matter who's sitting in it.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," Bob says with a sigh. "Looking at all this revelry makes my back ache."

"You're not old," Jensen argues, an ingrained habit by now. "You'll outlive us all."

He thinks of Kim, then, and misses him fiercely. There's a quality to Bob's silence that tells Jensen he's thinking the same thing.

"He would've been so proud of this," Jensen says, waving a hand at the assembled cast and crew. "I wish he were here to see it. Be a part of it."

"Pretty sure he's proud anyway, wherever he is," Bob replies. He squeezes Jensen's shoulder. "I know what you mean, though. It was never the same without him."

Jensen shakes his head, lets it hang down for a minute. He wants Jared suddenly, absurdly, just to have him nearby.

"What's next for you?" Jensen asks Bob, trying to distract himself. "After sleeping in for a month, that is."

Pretty much the whole crew had replied with that one, and Jensen can't blame them. As early as he and Jared are used to getting up, the crew have always had to be up earlier, to get things ready on set for when the actors arrive. Jensen reminded himself of that fact every time he bitched about an early call time. There's always someone else who's worse off, and doesn't get paid anywhere near as much as he does. It helps to keep his head on his shoulders and his ego in check.

"Got nothing on the horizon for a while," Bob says. "I'm kind of burned out, to tell you the truth. Might take some time off, kick around the house. Be an old fart."

Jensen laughs, imagining Bob with a cane, yelling at some goddamn kids to get off his goddamn lawn. It's surprisingly easy to picture. They've all aged a lot over the run of this show.

"Sounds pretty appealing," he jokes. "Think I could co-opt the idea, be an old fart in training?"

"Son, you already are an old fart," Bob informs him with a grin. "You're the crankiest son of a bitch in the morning that I've ever met. I have no idea how Jared puts up with you."

"He's usually on an endorphin high," Jensen confesses. "Or a sugar high, or a caffeine high, or ... well, you get the idea. But he hasn't killed me yet. I think the real mystery is, how have I put up with him?"

"That's no mystery at all," Bob says, and the direct look he follows up with leaves Jensen openmouthed in shock. "I don't know if you noticed, Jensen, but things have kind of finished up here. I know you're getting married and all, but I think you boys have some unfinished business. When the hell are you two going to get your act together? And I do mean _together_."

Jensen manages to shut his mouth after a second, grateful for the dim lighting so Bob can't see him flush. He casts around for something to say that won't sound rude, or stupid, but he doesn't want to come out and confirm anything, either. Nothing's ever happened; despite what Jared started to say earlier, nothing might happen; Jensen's not even sure what he wants to have happen; and talking about it might jinx the whole thing anyway.

He flails around for a way to say all of that without sounding like a complete idiot, without success. Bob sees his difficulty after a minute and holds up a hand to stop Jensen's spluttering.

"Let's change the subject," he suggests, and Jensen nods frantically. " _After_ I say this," Bob adds, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever else you two have going on in your lives, you are too good together to lose what you've built here. You're both grown men and I'm not your damned yenta, but son, if you let that boy get away without even trying then you're a damn fool."

Jensen's flush, which had been fading, flares up again, his entire body heating in a wash of undeniably pleased embarrassment. His and Jared's friendship has been the butt of a lot of jokes practically since the day they met, but hearing Bob say it straight out like that ... well. It twists up his gut in a really good way, makes him think that maybe this doesn't have to be the end after all. Not that he thought it would be, not their friendship, not really; but there's no denying things will change.

Maybe things are going to be different between he and Jared tomorrow, and he can't stop that. But maybe he can control just how different they are.

"Thanks," he says to Bob, and reaches over to give him a one-armed hug. "I don't know if—we haven't really ... well. I hear you, loud and clear is all. Thanks for giving a shit, I guess."

Bob nods once, looking satisfied, and claps Jensen on the shoulder. They sit for a while without speaking, watching people on the dance floor, at the bar, laughing and hugging and crying and going through all the rituals that a wrap party entails. Jared's not visible anywhere in the crowd, but Jensen's not worried. He knows they'll find each other before the end. And when they do, Jensen plans to drag Jared off somewhere quiet, secluded, and make him finish that sentence he started before Sera interrupted them. He thinks he's ready to hear how it ends.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later Jensen's starting to lose some of his zen. The party's breaking up; people are gathering their things, slamming down last drinks at the bar, gleefully anticipating their ability to not get up tomorrow morning. Jensen's done his final round of goodbyes, and now he's just waiting for Jared to reappear. He feels itchy under his skin, nerves dancing with the knowledge that he's actually, finally, really going to do this. They are. He just needs to find Jared, and talk to him, and ...

Jared is there. Right over there, in a darkened doorway, hair dishevelled and shirt untucked, laughing as he wraps an arm around Sera's waist and kisses her soundly on the mouth. He looks relaxed, standing loose-limbed and easy, and Jensen has seen Jared look like this too many times to not know what they've been up to.

He tries to look away, but Jared catches his eye, and Jensen can't hide his shock and disappointment quickly enough. He can see Jared's face change, the realisation as he looks from Jensen to Sera and back again, and right then it just becomes too much. Jensen's had enough. It's all over, the end has come and gone, and _nothing fucking happened_.

Jensen stands up and grabs his coat from the back of the chair, knocking back the dregs of his last beer. He slides into the coat, already walking toward the door, a smile pasted on his face for the benefit of anyone watching him go.

He hears Jared calling his name, but he doesn't stop, doesn't answer. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he can go back to normal, but just for tonight, for the rest of the night, Jensen wants to pretend Jared Padalecki doesn't exist.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't go home. He doesn't answer his phone, although he has six missed calls from Jared and his voicemail is full, and the text messages pile up by the hour. He checks into a hotel and stays up until dawn, watching old movies on TCM and resolutely trying not to think.

The single refrain of _your own damn fault, you fucking loser_ keeps surfacing in his mind. Jensen ransacks the minibar and downs a tiny bottle of alcohol every time, until he can't remember what he's crying about.

When ten-thirty has come and gone and he knows Jared is safely on a flight back to Los Angeles, Jensen showers off his hangover, checks out of the hotel and goes back to his apartment to pack. Danneel's already gone; there's a house in LA to set up before she meets him in Texas, and Jensen's shooting schedule was tight up until the last day. He just needs to grab his clothes; the movers will deal with everything else.

There's a note stuck to the front door with a yellow smiley sticker. When Jensen pulls it off, it brings some of the paint with it.

> _I'm sorry. I'm an idiot, and I'm sorry. Please call me._
> 
> _I'm SORRY._

There's no signature, but there doesn't have to be. Jared's handwriting is as familiar as Jensen's own, and nobody else has anything to apologise for. Although neither does Jared, to be brutally honest; they'd never said anything, never exchanged more than a few looks last night, and if Jensen had really wanted to he could've looked for Jared, found him, and things might have gone very differently.

It's too late now. There's no rewind in real life, no pickups, no multiple takes. Jared made a choice last night for both of them, and Jensen's not going to try and make it again. He has Danneel to think about, and his career, and as romantic as it would be to say _fuck all that_ and run after Jared like in a Cary Grant movie, in real life people don't get everything they want.

Jensen crumples the note and throws it in the trash. He deletes all of Jared's voicemails unheard, all of his texts unread, packs his things and goes to the airport to catch his flight. He's suddenly glad he's not going to Los Angeles right away. He wanted to spend some time at home to de-stress, centre himself, strip the remains of Dean Winchester from his psyche; now that time will be doubly precious.

He texts Jared from the airport, right before he boards. _Forget about it. It doesn't matter. Probably for the best anyway._ And then a few minutes later, _Take care of yourself._

When he lands at DFW and gets Jared's message in response, consisting of a sad emoticon face, Jensen has to force himself not to call. He figures it'll get easier, over time. He has to learn to live without Jared at his right hand sometime; might as well start now.

 

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER, 2010**

Jared comes to the wedding, but he doesn't stay for the reception. Jensen tells himself he understands and he doesn't really mind, and it's only half a lie.

 

* * *

 

**MARCH, 2011**

When Jared and Genevieve have their surprise wedding, Jensen's in Hawai'i shooting a movie. He finds it ironic that when he finally gets to do a job in a tropical location, all he wants to do is go home.

Genevieve puts the wedding pictures up on her Facebook page. Jensen saves them all and keeps his favourite on his phone, but he never mentions it to anyone.

 

* * *

 

**DECEMBER, 2011**

" _Hey, Stretch. It's me. I guess you know why I'm calling, huh?_

_"Look, you know I'm not much good at this shit, but if you want to talk or anything, or get drunk and cry on someone's shoulder, just—gimme a call, okay? I know we haven't touched base in a while, and that sucks, but I want to be there for you if I can. If you want._

_"I'm sorry, man. I know you wanted it to work with Genevieve. I am so damn sorry._ "

 

* * *

 

After a week goes by and Jared hasn't replied to his voicemail, Jensen figures it's a sign that his sympathy isn't wanted. He debates trying again, but fear and pride and the shreds of passive-aggressive jealousy he's never managed to overcome prevent him from doing anything. He goes to work and sleeps with his wife and doesn't let himself think about how Jared's coping at all.

 

* * *

 

**MARCH, 2016**

The script arrives at eleven in the morning, two days after Jensen's birthday. He's still slightly hungover and feeling every one of his thirty-nine years, so all he does is grunt his thanks at the delivery guy when he signs for it, and throws the envelope on the dining room table with the others.

It sits there for another three days before he remembers to open it.

When he finally does get around to reading it, it only takes about ten pages and half an hour before he's reaching for his phone and dialling his agent.

"I want this role, Angie," he says as soon as she picks up. "What do I have to do to get it?"

"Why, hello to you too, Jensen," Angie sings sweetly down the line at him. "How are you today? I'm doing fabulously well, thank you for asking."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm a bastard who never calls unless I want something and you're a goddamn angel for putting up with me," Jensen rattles off, still reading through the script. "Get me this part and I'll buy you a car, Angie." He pauses to re-read a line and snorts out a laugh. "Two cars. God. Who wrote this thing?"

He flips back to the title page and stares at the names sitting in neat bold type underneath the title. _Screenplay by Sera Gamble and Ben Edlund_ , it reads. Jensen's world stumbles in its orbit.

"Jensen? Jensen, are you there?" Angie's asking, but she feels a little distant right now. Jensen puts a hand out to the wall to steady himself, taking a deep breath as he tunes back into the conversation.

"Sorry," he cuts in as Angie yells his name again. "I just zoned out for a second."

"Which script are you talking about?" Angie wants to know. "I send you a dozen scripts a week, Jensen. You need to narrow it down a little."

"' _Swings And Roundabouts_ '," Jensen clarifies with a mental shake of his head. Angie doesn't know anything about the show except that it was his big break; she wouldn't know about his history with Sera and Ben, so she wouldn't know to highlight their names on a random script. "I want to know who's interested, and I want you to set up a meeting for me. This week, if possible."

Angie sounds a little puzzled when she replies, "Okay, sure." Jensen waits a second, positive she'll ask; and of course she does, right on cue. "Why are you so hot for this one script? It didn't seem all that great to me."

"It's funny," Jensen says, because that's all he can think to say right now. "You know how I love a good comedy, Ange."

"It's a romcom," Angie points out. "Are you sure you want to go there?"

"I think my reputation can handle it," Jensen says dryly. "I know I'm not George Clooney, but I am allowed to have a little fun now and then, right?"

"Whatever you say," Angie replies with a sigh. "I just hope you know this isn't going to get you any closer to that little gold statue."

"I'm sure I'll survive," Jensen says. "I've lived this long without one, after all."

"You are way too levelheaded to be in this business," Angie accuses. "Why can't you be a prima donna and make my life hell like all my other clients?"

"Because it's so much fun being your island in the stream, hon," Jensen drawls just for the hell of it, and laughs when he hears her grumbling under her breath. "Let me know when and where for the meeting, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Angie sounds like she's trying not to laugh. "Go do some yoga or whatever it is you do to keep your zen, Ackles."

"I stare at a picture of you, Angie," he says. "I thought you knew that."

"God, even your stalker tendencies are cute. I'm hanging up now," she says, and then she does hang up, making Jensen laugh again.

He tosses the phone on the couch and flops down after it, getting comfortable so he can read the rest of the script properly. It's very early days, and he doesn't even know if he can get it, but he's got an in and he's willing to use it. He wants this movie, and not just for old times' sake. He's got a really good feeling about this.

 

* * *

 

Angie calls him back the next day with a time and place for the meeting.

"Tell me I'm a miracle worker," she informs him before giving up the information. "Or you're not getting another word out of me."

"Angie, you're a miracle worker," Jensen says obediently. "You're a goddess. You are a queen among entertainment representatives. I was absolutely lying about buying you a car, you know that, right?"

"Duh," she says. "I know you're all talk, Ackles. Got a pen?"

Jensen writes down the meeting details, assures Angie he doesn't need her to be there, and finishes up the call with a few more declarations of undying love, which Angie rightfully treats with the scorn they deserve. Then he sits down at the kitchen counter and stares at the words he's written, his heart thumping in his chest.

Robert Singer, director and executive producer. Sera Gamble and Ben Edlund, producers.

Jensen doesn't even let himself think the name, but it's right there at the front of his mind. If he's honest, it's never been very far away at all.

He carefully puts the piece of paper down, square in the middle of the counter, and weights its corners with fridge magnets. The mere possibility of what it represents is enough to get him counting the hours until tomorrow afternoon. He doesn't think the words _second chance_ , but he knows that's what this is.

 

* * *

 

Bob greets him with a hug and a slap on the shoulder, following it up with a searching look that sees far more than Jensen's comfortable with. Nothing's changed there; Bob's still looking out for him, even though they haven't seen each other in years. Jensen shies away from Sera's outstretched arms, but only for a second; it's hardly her fault things ended up the way they did, after all. Sera looks at him knowingly when they break apart, but Jensen pretends not to have seen.

Ben just gives him a crooked smile and waves a hand. "Good to see you," he says. "How are things?"

Jensen opens his mouth to play the usual game, _Oh, you know, up and down, so-so, some things never change_ , but what comes out instead is, "I've been pretty bored, man."

He only realises it's true when it's already out there, hanging in the air. He's had some great opportunities in the past seven years, and he's done some great work, but oh God, he has been so fucking bored.

Ben laughs like he's never heard anything funnier in his life. Jensen looks from Sera to Bob in query, wondering if he's been left out of the joke, but they look just as puzzled as he does. After a minute Ben settles down, but he refuses to tell them what's got him so tickled.

"You'll find out sooner or later, unless you don't," is all he'll say. That leaves Jensen even more frustrated, but Ben won't budge.

They run through the business side of things, discussing salary, promotional obligations, scheduling, and locations. It's pretty surreal; Jensen's used to this kind of conversation, of course, but he's not used to seeing people he thinks of as family sitting on the other side of the table. The fact that they know each other means it's a pretty straightforward conversation; in a couple of hours they've covered all the salient points, and there's a bit of a lull while everyone shuffles paper and double checks that they've addressed everything they need to.

"When did you start directing movies?" Jensen asks Bob idly, twirling a pen between his fingers. "I thought you were gonna make them bury you in the Paley Center parking lot."

Bob snorts and jerks his head at Sera and Ben. " _Somebody_ called in a favour," he says. "Trust me, I'd rather be back in Vancouver for nine months than deal with all this hoopla."

"Big favour," Jensen observes.

"You have no idea," Bob says, rather cryptically, and then Sera clears her throat and brings their attention back to the matter at hand.

"There's one more thing you should know before you sign on to do this thing," she says. She looks somewhat tentative, which isn't Sera's usual style. Jensen raises an eyebrow but stays silent, waiting. "We've ... we've had some interest from another quarter. We didn't tell your agent about it because ... well, it was kind of a favour. We were keeping it quiet until we knew whether you were going to come on board."

"Someone else is interested in this role? Stuart?" Jensen asks, gesturing at the script. Stuart is the character he's interested in. He feels territorial already at the thought of someone else wanting the part.

"No," Ben says. He's spinning lazily around in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "For Jack." He grins. "And Logan, of course."

"Okay," Jensen says, drawing the word out. The three of them are looking at him like he's a specimen in a petri dish. "So, end the suspense already. Who is it?"

Bob clears his throat and leans forward, steepling his hands in a very serious manner.

"Jensen," he says, "how would you feel about working with Jared Padalecki?"


	3. Chapter 3

**MAY, 2016**

On the day of the first script read-through, Jensen's so jittery he can't sit still. He wanders around the apartment, picking things up and putting them down, fluffing the cushions on the couch and wiping down the kitchen counter twenty-seven times. He drinks too much coffee, but can't bring himself to eat anything, so when eleven-thirty rolls around and it's time to go to the studio he can barely concentrate long enough to navigate through the heavy Hollywood traffic. He runs through his first few lines obsessively, repeating them over and over so he doesn't slip and accidentally think of Jared.

Deliberately thinking of Jared is something he never, ever does.

He parks his car at the farthest end of the parking lot and walks slowly back, trying not to feel like a dead man walking, heading for his doom. That's a little too dramatic even for him; eventually Jensen rolls his eyes at his own theatrics and speeds up his pace. He can't put it off any longer; might as well get it over with and put an end to the waiting. It's not like he and Jared are enemies, after all; they just haven't spoken in a while.

Of course, seven years is more than 'a while', and Jensen has a fair amount of guilt and bitterness stored up over exactly why that is, but he figures it's probably best to leave all that in the past. They have to work together, and he doesn't want to work on an uncomfortable set. This shoot is going to be weird enough, given the storyline of the movie, and he doesn't really want to make it any worse than it has to be.

The double doors of the conference room loom in front of him, as if daring him to enter. Jensen hovers in the hall outside for a few minutes, hands clenched into fists in his pockets, breathing slow and even to keep himself calm. He feels sort of like he did the first time he ever went on stage, only back then he didn't have a particular person to impress. Now all he can think of is not doing anything to embarrass himself in front of Jared, and hopefully behave rationally enough so they can be something approaching friends again. He wants an icebreaker, at least. His hopes aren't high, but if he walks out of the room without having thrown or taken a punch, Jensen will count that as a win.

He shakes his shoulders and neck, draws a final deep breath and opens the door.

Jared's not here yet. That's the first thing he registers, along with a disproportionate sense of relief, tempered with disappointment. It's probably a good thing; this way he has time to settle down and prepare himself rather than having to beard the lion in its den, so to speak. He heads over to the U-shaped conference table, where Bob, Sera and Ben are already seated.

"Hey, y'all," he greets them, sinking down into the seat with his name tag in front of it. "How's everyone doing today?"

Sera and Bob exchange a look, and Jensen immediately starts to tense up. He knows that look on Bob's face; it never means anything good, at least not for an actor.

"Just fine, Jensen," Bob says, smiling genially. Sera echoes his words, a bright grin on her face, but Jensen doesn't buy it for a second. They're up to something, he's sure of it. He wishes Jared were here already so they could worry together, then wonders if Jared even does that anymore. Whether he'd care enough to share Jensen's concerns. Maybe they'll have to start from scratch, like it's day one—or worse, like they never clicked at all—and the five years they spent in each other's pockets will mean nothing.

His phone buzzes with a text message. Jensen flips it open and reads. It's from Danneel: a simple _good luck_ with a smiley face that he knows she doesn't mean. He hits the delete key without bothering to reply, and is just flipping the phone closed again when the door opens and Jared walks in.

Jensen fumbles the phone, nearly dropping it, because he can't look away from Jared. He's seen pictures and video and movies, of course, but this is the first time he's seen Jared in person since he married Danneel. It's a shock, feeling that same zing of attraction and energy that was there before; at the same time it's achingly familiar, almost a relief, making Jensen relax despite himself. Regardless of how badly things might go today Jared is still himself, at least to a degree, and Jensen is surprised at just how happy he is about that.

"Hey, y'all," Jared says with a smile, eyes passing over Jensen without lingering as he greets the whole group. "How's everyone doing today?"

Jensen starts a little at hearing the exact same words he'd uttered himself as he walked in. He'd forgotten how they used to do that. He sees Sera and Ben and the others exchanging grins that they don't explain, and he knows Jared is puzzled by the tiny vertical frown line that forms on his forehead, but nobody says anything other than to return his greeting.

Jared shrugs a little and moves further into the room, heading for his seat directly opposite Jensen's. He doesn't meet Jensen's eyes as he sits down, and he fidgets like he always does when he's nervous.

Jensen holds his silence for a while, sneaking glances at Jared while he listens to the conversations on either side of him. He doesn't catch Jared looking back; his eyes are fixed on the table. Jensen can feel the awkwardness and tension in the room climb higher as the seconds pass and neither of them says anything. The others are chatting among themselves, trying to cover for the silence between Jared and Jensen, but he can feel everyone waiting, and it sucks.

Finally, Jensen decides to end the suspense and get things moving. He tears a sheet of paper from the notepad in front of him, writes on it, balls it up and lobs it across the empty space between them. Jared doesn't see it coming; his head is down, studying the script on the table in front of him. The paper ball hits Jared squarely on the crown of his head and drops to the table by his left hand. He looks up, rubbing his head, and sees the paper ball sitting there. Jensen holds his breath as Jared looks around while he unfolds it; their eyes meet and Jensen doesn't look away, hoping the juvenile move will work.

Jared holds his gaze for a long moment; Jensen nods at the paper and he looks down, brows coming together as he reads.

> _~~Do you like me?~~ Wanna be ~~best~~ friends?_
> 
> _CHOOSE ONE: YES / NO / MAYBE / GO TO HELL_

Jared doesn't react at first, and Jensen's heart starts to sink. But after a few seconds he can see the corners of Jared's mouth turn up a tiny bit, then a bit more, until he's fighting a full on smile, lips trembling with the effort of keeping a straight face. Jared grabs a pen and scribbles for a few seconds, then balls the paper up and throws it back to Jensen, hitting him in the chest.

Jensen picks it up and ignores the trembling in his fingers as he smooths it out, laying it flat on the table. He lets his eyes unfocus to delay having to read it, but there's no point in that, so he mentally kicks himself and reads what Jared's written.

> _~~Do you like me?~~ Wanna be ~~best~~ friends?_
> 
> _CHOOSE ONE: ~~YES / NO /~~ MAYBE ~~/ GO TO HELL~~_
> 
> _Only if you let me have a turn on your bike on the way home from school._

Jensen can't stop the surprised shout of laughter that escapes him. He looks up to find Jared watching him, a small pleased grin on his face that's achingly familiar. He can't help his own smile in response, and seeing Jared's eyes light up with a tentative sparkle of delight makes his chest feel warm.

It's a warning, that warmth, but Jensen doesn't want to heed it. Not this time.

"When you're finished pulling each other's braids, gentlemen," Bob says dryly, "the rest of us are ready to start." But he's smiling as he says it, and Jensen can see the relief and approval and happiness in the faces of the people he knows at the table. The atmosphere is instantly lighter, easier, and the smile stays on his face as he exchanges one more look with Jared and they get down to work.

 

* * *

 

They go through the introductions and explanations of who's doing what and who's cast as which character (or characters, in Jared's case), and then they start the read through. The actress playing Yvonne confesses to being a fan of the show, which makes Jared and Jensen beam at her in unison, then catch each other's eye and laugh. They're about three-quarters of the way through the script, and Jensen's having a hard time getting through his lines without laughing because it's honest to God funny, when he comes to the last section, which is printed on pale blue paper to indicate it's been rewritten. He stops and scans the pages, keeping half an ear open to keep track of what the others are saying, and then he reads something that makes him choke on his water and explode into a coughing fit, interrupting the flow of the reading.

"Jensen, you all right, man?" Jared asks across the table, looking ready to leap right over it. Jensen holds up a hand to indicate he's okay, coughing and spluttering to clear the water out of his trachea. He holds up the blue pages and waves them at Jared.

"Ah," Bob says when he sees what Jensen's doing. "Yeah, we're getting to that." He clears his throat and leans forward in his chair, looking from Jensen to Jared in turn. "Why don't we leave the read through where it is for now, and I'll have a chat with you two to talk about the changes to the rest of the script? It's getting late anyway, and I'm sure everyone's ready to call it a day."

Jared's been speed-reading through the pages while Bob was speaking, and when he looks up, Jensen can see he's just as taken aback at what's been changed. Except for one lightning-fast glance at Jensen he doesn't react; he just nods when Bob looks to him, and Jensen can't do anything but follow suit when Bob glances over to ensure his co-operation.

The rest of the cast and production crew file out of the room, some of them casting curious glances back at Jensen and Jared as they leave. Jensen stays in his seat, staring at the words neatly printed on blue paper, feeling like he's been blindsided. He never would have expected something like this. Sera and Bob's exchange of glances earlier makes perfect sense now; this is the other shoe dropping.

When the room's empty but for the two of them and Bob, who's leaning against the inside of the table a few feet down from Jensen, Jared looks at the director with a sharp gaze.

"Why weren't we told about this?" he asks. "This isn't something you're supposed to just spring on a guy, Bob. I would have thought you'd maybe call us, or something."

"Don't go getting all riled up, Jared. I didn't know until this morning," Bob says, hands out in a placating gesture. "Sera came in and handed me the new pages, and I approved them. You have to admit it works better this way, right?"

He looks over at Jensen for his input, and Jensen has to nod, if reluctantly. The new ending does work better, and it makes the whole story tighter, although he can see there are going to be further rewrites to make everything fit.

"I guess I can see that," he allows, when Bob seems to want more than a nod. "But ..." He pauses, flicks a glance at Jared. "You wanna give us a minute, please?"

"Sure." Bob gets to his feet and ambles toward the door. "I'll be outside. Just give me a shout when you're ready."

Jensen swallows hard as the door closes behind him, leaving him alone with Jared. The old tension is back, swirling thick in the air, although it's different now. This time there's acknowledgement in their shared looks, and it's something of a relief despite Jensen's nerves. Jared seems calmer, too, not fidgeting as much as he was before. It's still hard to meet his gaze; Jensen fights a flush as he glances from the script to Jared and back again several times.

"What do you think?" Jared says at last. "It's a little risky, but he's right. It does work better."

"A little risky?" Jensen repeats with a snort. "It's more than a little, Jared. The tabloids are gonna have a field day with this."

"Does that mean you don't want to do it?" Jared leans back in his chair, legs spread out under the table and his arms folded behind his head. His eyes are focused right on Jensen, front and centre, never looking away. "Because if you have a problem with it, you should tell me right now."

"You don't have a problem with it?" Jensen blurts out in surprise. Jared's not exactly known as a ladykiller, but he does have a certain reputation in Hollywood. And not many actors would be willing to take on a role like this. On the other hand, he's playing two roles, and these changes only affect one of them. Jensen's the one who'll bear the brunt of speculation if they do this.

"Not really." Jared shrugs, bring his hands back down to the table. "It's still a great script—better, now. And I think we can rock the hell out of it. If you're game, that is."

His gaze is challenging, now, bright hazel staring Jensen down, daring him to fold like a cheap deck of cards. He knows what Jared's really talking about, here; there's unfinished business between them, the unspoken feelings and missed opportunities that dogged them for five years, and the seven years of silence thereafter that Jensen couldn't find the courage to break. Jensen's hackles rise a little at the implication that he's still a coward—a phone call works both ways, after all, and he never changed his number—and he straightens his shoulders involuntarily, drumming out a quick rhythm on the table as he impulsively makes up his mind.

"Fuck it," he says abruptly. "Let's do it."

Jared's smile is satisfied, like Jensen just confirmed something for him, and Jensen's nerves redouble the second he sees it. Jared yells for Bob to come back in, and the feeling persists all the way through the remainder of the discussion until Jensen can escape at the end of the day.

He all but runs out of the room, hotfooting it to the parking lot and resisting the urge to lock himself in his car. He knows he's being ridiculous, but things just got a whole lot more complicated and he's going to take every minute of peace he can get. He has the feeling there won't be much of it around once filming begins.

He has the second chance he was hoping for. Now he has to get through it without fucking things up.

 

* * *

 

**JUNE, 2016**

The month before filming starts is the longest wait Jensen's ever had to endure. He cuts his hair and shaves his beard, going barefaced for the first time since Danneel left. It's not a strict requirement for the role, but it feels right.

Stuart is a fit guy, pretty health conscious. Jensen hits the gym, picking up his old workout from the show and amping it up a notch once he's back in the swing of it, spending four or five hours working out every day. It's hard; he's older and his body is too used to late mornings and coffee jumpstarts, but he grits his teeth and slogs away, and soon it feels less like torture and more like a routine.

He doesn't see Jared at all, but that's okay. He appreciates having this time to prepare—for the role, and for being in close quarters with Jared again. The look in Jared's eyes when he agreed to the script changes still worries him, but Jensen's confident he can deal with whatever it means. In the meantime, he's grateful they're on speaking terms, and if he takes a moment now and then to think about that meeting and remember how fucking well Jared is aging, nobody has to know about it but him.

 

* * *

 

There's red and blue tape on the ground, background players milling around everywhere and Bob sitting behind the monitor; it's almost like old times.

"You ready to do this?" Jared asks him, as they part ways to take their first marks.

Jensen grins at him, something bright and painfully happy spiking in his chest, and thinks _fuck it_. He drags Jared in close, wraps him up in a hug that's been a long time coming. Jared's stiff in his arms for just a moment, then he's relaxing into Jensen's body, hands slipping into position at neck and waist, and Jensen butts his forehead into Jared's neck and feels like he's come home.

He pulls back and holds up his fist; Jared bumps it with a silly smile on his face. Jensen jogs over to his mark and rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck.

"Let's go," he says, and Bob calls, "Action!"

 

* * *

 

"There you are!" Stuart pulls up short out of a slow jog, smiling as Jack looks around at him in surprise. "I thought you'd be long gone by now. Lucky you aren't, I guess."

Jack just looks at him blankly for a second, and Stuart feels his smile begin to waver and fall. Jack tilts his head and smiles back, but it's one of those _Who the hell are you?_ smiles and he still looks puzzled when he speaks.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Stuart fights not to let his disappointment show. He obviously hasn't made as much of an impression on this guy as he'd hoped, if he can forget Stuart's entire existence--not to mention the whole coffee-collision-kissing incident--within a few minutes. Stuart's not easily discouraged, though; he keeps his smile and shrugs a little, keeping pace as Jack moves at a fast clip along the sidewalk.

"Uh, yeah, we've met, but ... never mind," Stuart says. "I just wanted to return this. You dropped it when we--you dropped it back there a ways."

Jack looks down at the folder in Stuart's outstretched hand, and a look of profound horror and relief comes over his face. "Oh, holy sh--I mean, thank you," he says, all but snatching it out of Stuart's hand. "My life would not be worth spit if I lost this. My fiancée would _kill_ me. Really, thank you." He pulls out his wallet, offers a crisp twenty dollar bill. "Here."

Stuart backs up a step, looking from Jack's face to the money and back. He feels like he just missed the last step on a staircase, and now he's falling. His _fiancée_?

"No, thanks," he says as casually as he can manage. "Really, it was no trouble." He smiles, quick and meaningless, and keeps backing away. "You have a nice day, now."

"Thanks again!" he hears Jack call out behind him, but Stuart's already running back past the scene of the crime, already planning on never coming this way ever again so that he doesn't have to be reminded of the best kiss he's ever fallen into and the fastest disappointment that followed.

It's not until he's almost back to the store that Stuart realises Jack was wearing different clothes. It puzzles him for a while, but then it dawns on him: he did spill coffee on the guy, after all, and Jack is obviously the kind of guy who can afford to walk into a store and buy another suit if he feels like it. Stuart shrugs off the mystery, because it's pointless to wonder, and tries to concentrate on work.

If there's a small part of his mind that obsessively replays the coffee-flavoured kiss over and over for the rest of his shift, well, he deserves to keep something from the encounter. Talk about your might-have-beens.

 

* * *

 

"So that went pretty well," Jared says when the scene is done. He's looking at Jensen speculatively, but his voice is casual. "You don't seem too out of breath for an old guy."

They'd had to do the scene nine times for Jensen's coverage, and six more for Jared's. It wasn't a lot of jogging, but then he knows Jared's only teasing anyway.

"Screw you," Jensen says, laughing. "I do occasionally go to the gym, you know."

"I can see that," Jared murmurs. His eyes rake over Jensen once, fast, and then return for a more leisurely look.

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. His eyes lock onto Jensen's and hold him there, motionless, caught by the unexpected heat in Jared's gaze and the answering fire in his belly. They're standing less than a foot apart, and Jensen can almost feel the sparks flying between them.

Jared's mouth curves in a barely perceptible smile, hot and inviting, and Jensen swallows hard.

That answers that question, then.

"—breaking for half an hour! Repeat, we're breaking for half an hour!"

The second AD's voice cuts through the haze, breaking the spell between them. Jensen coughs and drops his eyes to the ground, scratching furiously at the back of his neck.

"I'm gonna ..." he says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of craft services.

"Good idea. I'll come with," Jared says, falling into step beside him. His voice is silky, low. "Gotta keep my strength up."

Jensen snorts, not quite daring to meet Jared's gaze. "You're not exactly a growing boy anymore, you know."

"That depends on what you mean by 'growing'."

That shocks Jensen into looking up. Jared's looking at him, something in his face that makes Jensen think of a cat crouched low, stalking its prey. His gut clenches, and he feels a streak of lust run through his spine. Then Jared's expression changes, smoothing into nothing more than food-based enthusiasm, and Jensen's left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

He doesn't think so, though. Not with the way Jared's gaze keeps returning to him time after time, and the way Jensen's blood is running fast and hot in his veins.

Now he just has to decide what to do about it.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Stuart can't get the guy out of his mind.

It was a two-minute encounter, and he totally ruined the poor guy's suit, but Stuart's finding it hard to think about anything else. He's sitting at the counter of the cafe after his shift is done, with his apron and leather jacket lying on the stool beside him, drawing idle doodles in the corner of a paper placemat, when he's startled by fingers snapping under his nose. Stuart flails back, almost tipping off his stool, and scowls at the short, pretty blonde that's standing behind the counter laughing at him.

"Not funny, Lisa," he says, affronted. "I could've broken my neck or something!"

"Sorry," she says, buffing her nails on her uniform and inspecting them. "That's what you get for thinking deep thoughts when you should be telling them to me instead." She gives him a narrow look, chewing on her bottom lip. "You've got 'new crush' written all over you," she decides. She pops her gum and leans her elbows on the counter, chin in hands in the universal listening position. "Okay. Spill."

Stuart hesitates, looking at her doubtfully. Lisa rolls her eyes and makes a 'come on' gesture with one hand.

"Stuart, seriously," she says, clearly exasperated. "I know I'm just a substitute girlfriend, but Yvonne isn't here and if you call her at the spa she'll make your life a living hell. You know you can't keep this stuff to yourself, so get over it and tell me already."

Stuart sits there with his mouth determinedly shut for approximately six seconds, and then his willpower crumbles and he starts babbling.

"I ran into him on the street," he confesses. "Like, literally ran into him. I spilled coffee on his suit--a really nice tux--and then I tripped and knocked him down and fell on him, and he's really really hot and there might have been accidental kissing. Which I might have really liked." Stuart clears his throat and tries not to blush. He fails miserably, as always. "So, yeah. That's it."

"That's it?" Lisa shakes her head and makes a 'tsk' noise. "You didn't get his number? You're losing your touch, Stuart."

"He was gone before I could ask him," Stuart protests. "He got all horrified and apologetic and just--poof! Disappeared. I got his name, though--he dropped his folder thing into my bag when I knocked him down, and I might've taken a peek inside. His name is Jack, by the way." He sighs heavily, slumping against the counter. "I went back up the street and found him a minute later, and he didn't remember me at all. Although he was probably just trying to get his stuff back without getting molested in broad daylight again."

Lisa's eyes flicker for a moment. She leans in further, her expression slyly interested. "How hot was he, exactly?" she asks. "Describe him. And when you say 'kissing', you mean ..."

"I mean _kissing_ ," Stuart says meaningfully, but he doesn't give up the details. "And oh my God, Lise, you have no idea. 'Hot' doesn't begin to describe him, not really. About six-four, kind of frat-boy-ish, all wholesome but with this wicked little grin. Shoulders out to here, and these really naughty hazel eyes. This man is a freaking walking wet dream, I swear to God."

Lisa doesn't say anything, but there's a mischievous smile on her face that Stuart knows all too well. It matches the sinking feeling in his stomach, and he knows without turning around what he's going to see. He drops his head into his hands and speaks through his fingers.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

"Yep." Lisa snaps her gum again, sounding delighted. "Pretty sure this is your guy. Can I get you anything, sugar?"

"Coffee?" Jack suggests, his voice warm and amused. "I had an encounter with some really good coffee earlier, and it kind of gave me a craving. I thought I'd stop in for some on my way home." He clears his throat. "Guess it's my lucky day."

Stuart takes a deep breath and tells himself to man up, turn around and face the hotness. When he does, the smile on Jack's face is enough to make Stuart forget which way he's breathing, and he chokes, nearly overbalancing again.

"Hey, whoa, careful," Jack says, stepping forward with a concerned look. He catches Stuart and eases him back on the stool, letting him go after a long moment and sticking his hands in his pockets. "You hit your head earlier today. Shouldn't you be resting? Or is 'hitting on people' kind of a literal thing for you?" He grins at Stuart, hazel eyes sparkling, and Stuart has the urge to slide right off the stool and twine himself around Jack's legs, like, forever.

"Sorry," Stuart mumbles, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I think maybe I have a tripping disease or something."

"I hope it isn't catching," Jack says with a wink. "Otherwise, I'm sunk. Can't say I'd be too sorry about how it happened, though."

Stuart chances a look and sees that Jack is still smiling, cute dimples appearing and disappearing at the corners of his mouth. He kind of wants to spend an entire day licking them.

"Oh. Um. Right," he says intelligently, and blushes some more. Jack chuckles a little and puts out one hand.

"I'm Jack," he says, which Stuart already knows because he's basically a stalker. "It was really nice to kiss you--I mean _meet_ you earlier." His cheekbones turn a little pink, and even that's hot. "I'm glad I ran into you again, so I could apologise properly."

"Oh, hey, no, no problem. It was totally my fault," Stuart stammers, frantically hoping he looks okay and wondering if Jack maybe has a thing for guys who work in cafes and wear t-shirts that say _Send More Tourists: the last ones were delicious!_. "Uh, I'm Stuart. Nice to, um, meet you. Too. Yeah." He shakes Jack's hand, rough and warm and callused, and has real difficulty making himself let go.

When they've gone about as far as they politely can with the hand shaking, they just stand there staring at each other. Stuart searches desperately for something to say that won't sound like a come-on or overly stalkerish, and fails. The silence grows awkward, each of them sneaking glances at the other until Lisa suddenly crashes the atmosphere with a loud snort, thumping a chipped mug down on the counter and splashing some coffee into it.

"Oh, for God's sake, just ask him out already," she says with an exaggerated sigh. "I get enough of this crap when I watch the soaps."

Stuart hisses at her, "Shut up, Lisa, he's taken!" but it's too late, the damage is done. Thankfully Jack doesn't seem offended; he's laughing again, and his gaze is bright and interested when he looks at Stuart, one eyebrow going up in query.

"I'm not, actually," he says, and smiles wider when Stuart looks at him in confusion. "Taken, that is. Not yet, anyway."

_Fiancée_ , he'd said earlier, Stuart remembers. Which means, technically ... but Stuart hesitates. He's been here before and it didn't end well.

But Jack's smile is so pretty, and he's watching Stuart with open invitation in his gaze, and Stuart just can't resist. He smiles back dreamily, startling when Lisa whacks him over the head with her notepad.

_Ask. Him,_ she mouths exaggeratedly, and then she stalks off, muttering, "Do I have to do everything around here?"

"Uh," Stuart says, glancing at Jack and down at the ground, hands buried firmly in his pockets so they don't do anything untoward. And then of course his mouth runs away with him again like always when he's nervous, and suddenly he can't stop talking.

"Okay, so this might be stupid but I really like you, or what I've seen of you so far, not that I'm implying I want to see more of you or anything," he hastens to add, and then wants to kick himself because that's not what he means at all. "I mean, I _do_ want to see more of you, just, when the timing's right and all, and I like dating and I'd really like to date you so, uh, you want to get dinner sometime, maybe? I'm going to shut up now."

Jack starts laughing for real about halfway through, a proper laugh with his head thrown back and his teeth shining white and the cutest goddamn dimples that Stuart has ever seen, and holy crap but he really, really likes this guy. He waits until Jack calms down some, enough to look at Stuart and smile wide and easy. Then he nods, and Stuart can breathe again.

"Yeah," Jack says, no hesitation. "Yeah, I'd like that," and just like that, Stuart's entire world has changed.

 

* * *

 

"Cut! Check the gate on that one, and print it if it's good. Boys, Sarah, that's a wrap for you for the day."

Bob's voice cuts through the scene like a razor, and Jensen jerks out of character with a strong sense of disorientation. He blinks a few times, settling back into himself, letting Stuart fade away until there's only Jensen left in his head. He looks over at Jared, who's doing the same thing, and wonders what's going through his mind right now. Because there's something about this particular role that's affecting Jensen in a way that usually doesn't happen. He wants to know if it's just him, or if their unique history has Jared feeling like Jensen is right now: confused, hopeful, fearful, and praying really fucking hard that everything he's feeling isn't showing on his face for everyone—especially Jared—to see.

He doesn't get the chance to find out; Jared's already halfway to his trailer, gone without a word, and Jensen doesn't see him again that day.

 

* * *

 

There's a knock on Jensen's trailer door a few minutes after he leaves the makeup trailer, just as he's getting changed. He zips up his jeans and heads for the door while buttoning Stuart's shirt across his chest.

"Hi." It's Tony, one of the interns. He looks flushed and sort of nervous. "Uh, I'm supposed to give you these?" He says it like it's a question, and Jensen has to smile at how young he seems, though there's probably no more than about five years between them.

"Hey, I'm Jensen," he says, and sticks his hand out. "Good to meet you, Tony." He stifles a chuckle when Tony surreptitiously wipes his hand on his jeans before completing the handshake. "What's that you've got, some pages?"

"Yeah," Tony says, and thrusts them out. "Mr Singer told me to tell you there's a problem with the sets, so we're changing up the shooting order." He nods at the pages in Jensen's hand. "Those are the pages for the new scenes, in case you need to run through them."

Jensen looks at the script pages in his hand, flicking through them quickly to see what's what. Only two scenes today for Stuart, now; this means Jensen can go home earlier, which is just fine with him. Jared will be stuck on set pretty late, it looks like; Logan and Yvonne's first meeting has been moved up. He glances through the dialogue, and is just about to thank Tony and send him on his way when something catches his eye. He stops, looks more carefully, and nearly chokes when he realises what he's reading.

"Mr Ackles? Jensen? Are you okay?" Tony's watching him with open concern, hands out as if he expects Jensen to keel over any minute. "Do you need something? Should I—"

"I'm fine," Jensen gasps, coughing to clear his throat. "Just swallowed the wrong way. Totally fine. Thank you." He waves the paper in his hand and forces a smile. "And thanks for these. You can tell Bob I'll be on set in five."

"O-okay," Tony says, backing his way down the trailer steps. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure. Really. I'm completely fine. Thanks," Jensen assures him, then shuts the door and collapses against it, staring at the pages again.

It's the kissing scene. The big, final, triumphant, true-love-conquers-all kiss between Stuart and Jack; the kiss that is more or less the climax of the movie, regardless of the straight wedding between Logan and the woman of his dreams—who wasn't his fiancée at the start of the movie, of course—that follows after.

It's the scene that Jensen has definitely, positively not been obsessing about, because he's a grown man and a professional and it's not like it'll be anything like a real kiss anyway. _That_ scene. It absolutely doesn't matter that this will technically be his and Jared's first kiss.

Suddenly Jensen's palms are sweaty and he's checking his breath and racing back to the tiny bathroom to brush his teeth, because if he has to kiss Jared for the first time today in front of thirty hairy grips, he's not going to do it reeking of garlic chicken.

He stares at himself in the mirror, foamy toothbrush in one hand, eyes wide and a little wild, and he wonders what the hell he's doing. Jared probably isn't freaking out about this. Jared's probably on set right now, perfectly relaxed, joking with the crew, checking his watch and telling everyone in a loud obnoxious voice how long Jensen takes when he's primping for a scene. Never mind that Jared always takes longer in the shower and has, like, six different moisturisers and God knows how many hair products and has to apply each of them in a specific order or the universe will end. Jensen would really like to take a photograph of Jared's bathroom cabinet one day and post it on every celebrity gossip blog on the internet.

He's stalling now, and he knows it. So Jensen tells himself to get a fucking grip and finish brushing his teeth, so he can go out there and kiss Jared and get it the hell over with, and then go home with a six pack of Bud and start trying to forget it ever happened.

"You are a professional," he says aloud, staring at himself and trying to sound firm. "You are not, in fact, a nine year old obsessing over Robert Pattinson. You've had sex scenes with Rosario Dawson and Eva Mendes and you managed to keep it in your pants just fine. This is no different. You will go out there and you will do the goddamn scene and you will do it in as few takes as possible, is that clear?"

His reflection looks back at him doubtfully. Jensen makes a face at himself and rinses his mouth, careful not to disturb his makeup, although he knows he'll get retouched the minute he gets to the set anyway. Finally he squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath and opens his trailer door.

Jared is there, hand raised to knock; his follow-through nearly clips the side of Jensen's head, and Jared stumbles back in surprise, all but tripping down the stairs.

"Whoa," Jensen says in alarm, reaching out to steady him. "Dude, I know I'm irresistible, but you don't have to literally fall for me." He grins, trying to keep it light, and Jared rolls his eyes in response.

"You're hilarious," he deadpans. "No, please stop, I'm dying of laughter." He tilts his head at the pages Jensen left on the counter between the kitchenette and the lounge area. "You saw the new scenes, I take it?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, as nonchalantly as he can. "I was just on my way to set."

"Oh." Jared looks surprised for a second. "Okay. I'll come with." He shoots Jensen an unreadable glance, and Jensen responds with a raised eyebrow as he locks his trailer door.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Jared says slowly as they start to walk toward set. "I dunno, I just. I thought you'd want to go over some of this stuff first, is all. Rehearse a little bit, maybe."

That almost sounds like Jared wants to ... oh. _Rehearse_. In private. Jensen is tempted to take that as a sign, but this is work, so he tries to focus.

"We can run the lines if you want to," Jensen offers. "But I don't want to play around with the, um, the blocking too much. I want it to be as natural as possible, you know? Organic."

What he really means is, _If I have to kiss you without a camera rolling, I'm going to go insane._ But he's not going to actually say that, so instead he bites the inside of his cheek and wills Jared to buy the load of crap that he just served up.

Jared looks a little puzzled—and maybe a little disappointed, Jensen notes hopefully—but he nods.

"Okay, if you wanna do it that way, I guess," he says with a shrug. "C'mon, Bob's waving at us. Let's see what he wants."

"I want dramatic," Bob says when they reach him. "Okay? I want to film this sucker in slow motion, and I want you two to make entire audiences swoon with the romance of it. So you," he points at Jensen, "play up the eyes and pucker up pretty, and you," he looks at Jared, "tone down the exuberance and turn it into something useful." Bob points at Jensen again. "Pretend he's the person you've been waiting for all your life, and this is your one chance to convince him the two of you can make it work. If you fail, he's getting on a plane to Europe and you'll never see him again. If you succeed, you both live happily ever after. With a puppy. A rescue puppy."

Jared laughs at that, and claps Bob on the shoulder. "I think we got it," he says, nudging Jensen for his agreement. Jensen mumbles assent, and then escapes to find his mark, trying to ignore the words Bob just said that are already beating a pulse in his brain.

_... he's the person you've been waiting for all your life ..._

Jensen looks over and sees Jared on his mark, eyes focused sharp and direct on Jensen. A tiny shudder runs up Jensen's spine; he shakes it off, but he can't take his eyes off Jared's face and he can't remember his first line, and he thinks this whole thing might have been a really fucking bad idea.

Then it's too late; the camera's rolling and Bob's calling, "Action!", Jared's moving across the set toward him, and Jensen can't do anything but follow his lead.

 

* * *

 

Stuart swings around in surprise when he hears the shout echoing behind him. Jack is there, his tux in tatters, bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat is undone, there's a stud missing from his shirt front and one of his cuff links is loose.

"What are you doing here?" Stuart hisses. "You're not supposed to be here. Go away."

"No." Jack plants his feet and crosses his arms, clearly intending to stick around. "Not until you tell me why you sucker-punched me and ran out of there like someone lit your ass on fire." He pokes gingerly at his jaw. "My face hurts, man."

"I don't have to tell you a goddamned thing," Stuart throws back, his hackles rising. "It's a free country, and I'm pleading the Fifth."

"The Fifth Amendment," Jack clarifies with a disbelieving look. "You're pleading the Fifth so you don't have to talk about why you just disappeared after punching me in the face and calling me a bastard?" He shakes his head, taking a step forward. "Uh-uh. Sorry, that's not gonna cut it."

Stuart snorts and takes a step back, matching Jack's position, keeping the distance between them. "I don't believe you," he spits, using the hurt he's feeling to channel his rage. "I _saw_ you, Jack! Standing up there in front of the priest with Yvonne--God, Yvonne, this is going to kill her--playing the proud new husband, and you wonder why I punched you?" He grinds his teeth and circles to the left as Jack takes another step. "I should've punched you _twice_."

"Wait," Jack says suddenly and stops dead, almost mid-step. He looks at Stuart with a new light in his eyes, utter astonishment dawning. He stands still for a long moment, staring, and then a slow smile forms on his face that takes Stuart's breath away. "You saw me? I mean, actually standing in front of the priest, et cetera?"

Stuart gestures angrily at Jack's tux. "Unless you've got a twin brother I don't know about, I'm pretty sure it was you, yeah."

He's completely unprepared for Jack's shout of delighted laughter, and is halfway to furious when Jack manages to calm down somewhat and give him an explanation.

"Well, you see, Stuart," Jack confides as he flips open his wallet and crooks a finger for him to come closer, "as it happens, I do."

Stuart's about to ask what the hell he means by that, and then he gets close enough to actually look at the photo Jack's pointing at. There are two Jacks in the photo, or rather, Jack and a guy who looks extraordinarily like Jack, enough that anyone who didn't know they were twins would guess it was the same person. Stuart stares at the photo for a long moment, trying to reconcile this information with what he thought he knew.

"I thought you knew," Jack says, as Stuart looks at him and starts to move closer. "I talk about my brother all the time, and you _met_ him, for crying out loud!" he continues as Stuart begins to stalk him across the room. "You hung out with him!"

"I thought he was you," Stuart yells. "He asked me to come over and he didn't _tell_ me and I thought--I kept thinking you were blowing hot and cold on me for no good reason, and it was driving me crazy!" He backs Jack up against the door of the cafe, flipping the sign over from OPEN to CLOSED. "I had a date with him and it was horrible--okay, no, it wasn't horrible but it was really _straight_ and I thought you'd changed your mind." He stops and puts his hands over his face, wanting to die of embarrassment. "How hard would it have been to say 'twin', Jack?" he asks through his fingers. "Huh? Just once. 'Logan, my _twin_ brother. See, it's easy, I just said it myself--"

Then Stuart stops talking, because Jack has taken two long steps forward and is right up in his personal space. His hands come up to pull Stuart's hands away, Jack's hands framing his face instead and a brilliant smile on Jack's face that melts all the bones in Stuart's entire body.

"Stuart, please shut up," Jack breathes, and then Jack is kissing him, and Stuart has no idea what's happening but he's not about to ask. He just closes his eyes and kisses Jack for all he's worth, until they're struggling for air, breaking apart to gasp into each other's open mouths, lips catching and nibbling, nuzzling, unable to pull away.

"You should've said something," Stuart says after a while, kissing his way across Jack's jaw. "Could've been doing this for months already."

"Oh my God, you're going to hold this over me forever, aren't you?" Jack groans, but he's angling his neck to give Stuart access and his hands are tight on Stuart's arms, keeping him close.

 

Jensen just smiles and bites Jared gently, slides back up to kiss him again and waits for the call of " _Cut!_ "

It doesn't happen, and it doesn't happen, and for a horrifying moment Jensen thinks he's misread the lines or Bob's fallen asleep or Jared's pranking him again, and every muscle in his body goes tense. But then Bob's voice rings out over the set and Jensen exhales a relieved breath as he steps away, and almost misses the look on Jared's face.

Jared looks—weird, like he's just received a shock or something, and Jensen's about to ask him what's wrong when Jared flicks his tongue out to wet his lips and _lingers_ , slowly licking them, once, twice. Jensen thinks, _That's me he's tasting_ , and his reaction to that is so strong he knows he needs to get the fuck out of here right now.

They've got a break while the crew sets up for Jared's coverage—which means Jensen has to suffer through the whole scene again, and they have to remember every move they made, and Jensen's having trouble remembering his own name at the moment so he's pretty sure they won't be lucky enough to get through it in one take. Jensen takes one more quick glance at Jared, who is now running his thumb over his bottom lip with a thoughtful look on his face ... and Jensen flees.

He retreats to his trailer and brushes his teeth again to get the taste of Jared out of his mouth. Then he drops to the floor and does crunches until his stomach muscles are screaming for mercy and he can't think of anything except how much he's going to hurt tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," Jared says at the end of the day, when they're heading back to their respective trailers. "What are your plans tonight? You want to grab a drink, some dinner maybe?"

Jensen's mind stutters as he hears this, and he falters for a second, letting Jared catch up. He's been grimly focused on getting through the rest of the day, counting down the hours until he can stop kissing Jared, holding Jared, smelling Jared's damn cologne and sweat and touching him all the damn time ... and now Jared wants to take him to dinner?

_This is hell,_ Jensen decides, and it's almost funny. _I died at some point during the day, and bypassed Purgatory entirely, and now I'm suffering the worst form of torture ever—_

"It's not a trick question, Jensen," Jared says patiently, and Jensen looks up, realises he's been staring at Jared for longer than is sane or polite, eyes wide and mouth open. He snaps his mouth shut and rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

"Sorry," he says. "Long day."

"We've been through worse," Jared says, eyebrow shooting up, and he's right; they've done much worse for twice as long in one day, but this is different.

"It's not the same," is all Jensen says, and shrugs when Jared still looks curious. "You know the emotional shit is always stressful for me."

"Dude, it's a romcom," Jared points out with a grin tugging at his mouth. "It's not supposed to be a drag. Unless ..." and his face changes then, some of the brightness going out of his eyes, and he stops looking quite so happy to be there. "Unless it's not the script you're having trouble with."

Jensen connects the dots half a second after Jared's face falls entirely, but by then it's already too late. He's opening his mouth to speak, to assure Jared that he isn't the problem, but Jared's stopping in his tracks, his shoulders slumping like he just took a hit to the gut. There's a brief second where Jared looks almost devastated, and then an expressionless mask falls down over everything, covering it up.

"No, hey, Jared—" Jensen begins, but Jared holds up a hand.

"Don't," he says, and he sounds so _tired_. "Just ... don't, Jensen, okay? I get it. Things really have changed, huh?"

Jensen rubs his hands on his jeans, wanting to explain but not sure how to begin. Jared looks weary now; suddenly older, he who was always the boyish one, the person who kept Jensen feeling young. Jared looks like a man with an ache that's killing him.

"It's not that," Jensen tries again, although he can't explain what it _is_ , because he closed that door long ago. "Really, Jared, it isn't. Let's ... fuck, let's just get some dinner, okay? I'm pretty sure my blood sugar has a negative value by now, and you're always hungry, so let's just fucking eat something before we get into this. Okay?"

Jared hesitates; Jensen wants to say _Please, please just come with me, right now_ , but some shred of pride or fear holds him back. When Jared shakes his head, the bitterness that sweeps through Jensen is strong.

"I don't think so," Jared says at last. "Food isn't gonna fix this, J."

The bitterness in Jared's voice is startling, wholly unexpected. Jensen is staring again, he knows, but he's honestly shaken by the way Jared shakes his head and turns away, walking with his head bent and his shoulders hunched, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as if he's heading into a harsh wind.

"Well, fuck," Jensen says to no-one, watching Jared go until he rounds a corner and disappears from view. "Now what the fuck do I do?"

 

* * *

 

Things get really fucking awkward on set after that. They hadn't been anything close to what the show used to be like—none of the constant banter and joking, nothing like the rock-solid feeling of support Jensen used to rely on like the air he breathed—but there'd been something, a connection, some vestige of their old rapport. It was enough to feel comfortable, to ease past the usually difficult process of bonding with the cast and getting to know the crew. Falling back on Jared's easygoing nature is still Jensen's default, apparently; he doesn't realise this until the option isn't there anymore.

Outwardly, nothing really changes. Jared is perfectly amicable, says good morning and carries on a conversation, doesn't head for his trailer every time they break. But all the ease is gone; now it's just superficial bullshit with that bitterness beneath, and when their eyes meet, there's nothing to see in Jared's gaze. Nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

Stuart is nearly run off his feet with table orders, and behind the counter Lisa and Yvonne are hard pressed to keep up with the phone-in orders and their usual walk-in traffic from the street. Stuart sneaks a glance at his watch and prays for the lunch rush to be over soon.

"Hey." Yvonne snags his apron as he walks by, taking a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen. "Remind me to tell you something later, okay? I have news." Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and her berry-red mouth is curved in a blissful smile.

Yvonne is tall and willowy and brunette, the kind of woman most men dream about. Stuart adores her; she's smart and funny and she gets him in a way few people do. She's also the most transparent person Stuart's ever met--one look at her and he can tell what she's excited about, and it makes his stomach knot up apprehensively.

"You met someone?" he says, and she nods, bouncing a little in her Skechers. "You met someone. Oh, Von, come on, it's only been five days! What happened to swearing off men for life? Again?"

"This one's different," she insists, speaking over her shoulder. "I'll explain later. Just don't leave until we've had a chance to talk--Lisa told me about your little coffee spill, and I want to know everything."

She turns around to serve another customer, and Stuart smiles and shakes his head. Yvonne falls in love every five minutes and never seems to have a problem with it. He really wishes he could be that carefree. Right now, all he's daring to hope is that when he finally musters up the courage to call, Jack won't hang up in his ear.

 

* * *

 

**JULY, 2016**

"Jesus, Jared. She's a little young, don't you think?" Jensen gripes, staring at the girl's swinging hips as she walks away from Jared's trailer. She's only just in her twenties, if that, and she has a smile on her face that says she got what she came for. In a word: Jared.

Jared just looks at him and shrugs, a single eyebrow raising in mock surprise.

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be blessed the joy of matrimony, Jensen," he says, raising his can of Red Bull in a toast. "Besides, I can't turn 'em all down, or else the tabloids are gonna start saying I'm gay again."

He flashes a meaningless smile in Jensen's direction and turns to go back inside his trailer, obviously intending the conversation to end there. Jensen isn't blind; he can see the annoyance tightening across Jared's shoulders, and he can't believe they're just going to let it go like this.

He bangs up the stairs of Jared's trailer and hammers on the door. "Wait a minute!" he yells. "We're not done here, Jared. Let me in, damn it."

Jared opens the door and stands there, looking at him with an absolutely blank expression—that same one Jensen's seen before, the one that freezes his blood, that he's quickly growing to hate. For a long moment Jensen's not sure Jared's going to let him in, and the idea is like a punch square in the gut.

"Come on if you're coming in, then," Jared says, turning around and heading for the sofa without a backward glance. "And hurry up. I have a conference call with my agent in ten minutes."

Jensen shuts the door and leans back against it, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Jared flicks a glance at him and then looks away again, staring intently at the financial headlines on his TV.

"What's up with you?" Jensen asks. "You never went for the starfuckers before, man."

Jared utters a short laugh with no humour in it whatsoever. "Things change," he says with a shrug. Just that, nothing more. Jensen grinds his teeth and tries again.

"You're not seeing anyone?"

"That's none of your goddamn business," Jared returns pleasantly. He looks Jensen up and down, his mouth twisting with some unidentifiable emotion. "What do you want, Jensen? Want me to spill my guts about my love life so you can pat me on the head and say 'there, there' and rhapsodise about the awesomeness of married life?" He snorts and shakes his head. "I'll pass, thanks."

Jensen is at a loss for words. He has no idea where this bitterness of Jared's is coming from, but it feels wrong. Jared's wound tighter than a spring, and Jensen can't figure out why, or if it's his fault, and what he can do to fix it.

"I wasn't going to do that," he says finally, in a quiet voice. He hesitates, then adds, "In fact, uh. I was going to tell you—Danneel and me. We, uh, we broke up."

Jared goes stock-still for a second, all the colour draining from his face. A moment later he's bright red with what Jensen guesses is probably anger, but that makes no sense at all.

"What the _fuck_ ," Jared says in a dangerous voice. "When?"

"About a year and a half ago," Jensen answers cautiously. "We've kept it pretty quiet. The divorce isn't final yet, but it's more or less a done deal."

They're getting closer to the subject Jensen wants to talk about, but Jared's mood seems to warrant stepping carefully. The last thing Jensen wants is to get shut down now, when they're finally starting to get to the point. He waits in silence as Jared takes several deep breaths, clearly trying to get control of himself. Jensen is absolutely baffled, and it must show because Jared takes one look at him and laughs that fucking awful laugh again. It sounds like something's broken inside him.

"Stupid fucking idiot," he mutters, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. "Fucking _moron_."

"Jared, what?" Jensen says, throwing his hands wide in frustration. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Good fucking question!" Jared yells, waving his own arms around. "That's an excellent question, J. I don't have an answer, okay? But while we're at it, let me ask you a question: what the fuck is wrong with _you_ , huh? Why the hell did you throw away ten years with a woman you love?"

He's up in Jensen's face now, eyes flaring bright green, chest heaving, each word hitting like a physical punch. Jensen doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but he's getting as riled as Jared, having the guy in his space like this, and he can't stop himself.

"Because she wasn't—"

_You_ , he finishes silently, clamping his mouth shut. Jared's glaring at him, as pissed as Jensen's ever seen him, and it's all Jensen can do to keep his feet as the conscious thought finally forms outside the darkest, most repressed corner of his mind.

_I had to do it. It wasn't working. My marriage fell apart because she wasn't—isn't—you._   



	4. Chapter 4

**CHRISTMAS, 2014**

They're visiting Jensen's parents for the holidays when it all finally comes to a head. Jensen's tired; he's just come off filming a sci-fi sequel back to back with a period drama, and he doesn't even know what time zone he's in. To be fair, Danneel's been working hard herself, but her schedule isn't as crazy and she has a much better handle on things than he does, so Jensen's having trouble keeping up.

Danneel barely waits for him to get off the plane before she starts quizzing him about whether he brought all the kids' presents and how long they should spend at his parents' place before they head to Louisiana to visit her family. He puts up with the chatter for about ten minutes before he finally snaps.

"Jesus Christ, Danneel, can you give it a rest?" he interrupts in the middle of her monologue. "Please? At least let the jet lag pass before you try to kill me with details."

She pulls back, obviously affronted, and a good deal of the sparkle leaves her expression. "Fine," she says in an even tone, fluffing out her hair. "I just thought you'd be interested in hearing about what we're going to do with the ten days you oh-so-generously decided you could spend with me before I have to go to Spain."

Jensen bites his tongue, reminding himself that Danneel has a right to be upset. He's been working steadily all year, barely seeing her for more than a couple of days at a time. He didn't actually have to take this last movie; it was a whim, one he hadn't examined too closely at the time.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, reaching for her hand. "I'm interested, I promise. I'm just kind of a zombie right now, okay? Give me a few hours to figure out which way's up and I'll be good to go." He kisses her knuckles. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Danneel subsides, clearly still not happy, but she doesn't pull her hand away so Jensen counts it as a win. He leans back in the passenger seat of the car, eyes falling shut of their own accord as he revels in the knowledge that he has nowhere to go and nothing to do for the next three months. He's been waiting for this break for a long time. He plans to live on the couch. The remote control may actually meld with his hand, given enough time.

"Rough flight?" Danneel asks after a few minutes. Jensen snorts.

"I had screaming twins on one side of me and a guy with motion sickness on the other. It wasn't ideal."

"I don't know why you didn't fly first class," she says. "It's not like we can't afford it."

"I told you, they were booked out. I couldn't get a first class ticket," Jensen says tightly. "I don't exactly enjoy travelling in cattle class, you know. I had four teenage girls giggling at me from across the aisle for half the damn flight."

Danneel's mouth tightens, and Jensen feels bad for bringing it up. He knows how she feels about certain portions of his fan base; the idea of girls less than half his age staring at posters of him on their bedroom walls freaks Jensen himself out. He can only imagine how Danneel feels, knowing that a good number of those girls wish she was dead, or had never existed.

"Whatever," is all she says, but the atmosphere in the car stays tense for the entire drive, and Jensen is just as tightly wound at the end of it as when he got off the plane.

He submits gracefully to the embrace of his mother and his father's handshake, exchanges shoulder punches with Josh and feels a moment of sorrow that Mackenzie isn't here. She's always been a buffer that he can hide behind whenever things get to be too much for him at home; this year, however, Mac is spending the holidays with her fiancé's family, and Jensen won't see her until the day they leave for Louisiana, two days after Christmas.

The first evening at home passes in a flash. Jensen teases his nieces and nephews about the presents he puts under the tree, and shares a quiet drink with his father while Danneel runs the kids ragged playing football in the yard. It seems like they're only just sitting down to dinner, and then suddenly Jensen's eyes won't stay open, and Danneel's clucking her tongue at him in that annoying way of hers that makes him feel like a ten year old kid, and dragging him up the stairs to the guest room.

Jensen flops onto the bed face down, full of his mother's barbecue and way too much pumpkin pie for a man his age. He seriously considers just falling asleep like this. He knows he'll regret it if he doesn't at least get undressed, though, so he drags himself upright and sits on the edge of the bed, letting his clothes fall to the floor as he undresses. Danneel picks them up, folding them neatly over the chair in the corner of the room.

"Go to sleep," she tells him, running red-tipped nails through his hair. "You look exhausted."

"You're not coming?" Jensen asks fuzzily, sprawling back onto the bed in just his boxers.

"It's barely nine," Danneel says. "I'll be up in an hour or two. You just get some rest so we can enjoy the day tomorrow, okay?"

Jensen wants to argue, tell her that it's not going to be his fault if they don't have a good time tomorrow, but his eyes are closing and his mouth won't form words anymore. He feels Danneel press a kiss to his forehead as he drifts into sleep, but strangely, the last thought he's conscious of having is not of her. It's someone else entirely.

Before he can question why he's suddenly thinking of Jared after all these years, Jensen's body calls it quits and he sinks into welcome darkness with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

The holiday isn't exactly everything Jensen hoped for.

It's not _bad_ ; they don't fight beyond a few snippy exchanges and there's still laughter and sex and warmth between them, pretty much the same way it's always been. But for the first time, Jensen's unable to deny that there's something missing from the equation, some essential spark that would overcome the petty irritations and minor niggles that encroach on any relationship, and make him focus on the good parts rather than the bad.

He knows it's not just him; he catches Danneel looking at him over the next few days with a resigned expression on her face, and he has to wonder how often she's worn it before and he's just never noticed. Because this marriage of theirs, it's fine, it works okay, but it's not what he wanted. And looking at Danneel's wistful face as she watches his parents interact, with their casual affection and obvious intimacy borne of long years of loving each other, Jensen knows it's not what she wanted either.

He decides to bite the bullet the night they're on the road after leaving Richardson. It's only a six hour drive to Lafayette, but they didn't leave his parents' house until mid-afternoon, and Danneel doesn't like driving at night. Jensen hasn't offered to drive; this trip is Danneel's to do what she likes with, and if she wants to stop for the night he's not going to argue.

Jensen waits until they've checked into a hotel, figuring it's best to broach the subject on neutral ground, while they're relaxed. Or as relaxed as he can get, anyway. He realises while Danneel's in the bathroom just how long it's been since they had any sort of typical married life, and he wonders if that's part of the problem. They're a couple, but they don't live like a normal couple would—even other couples in their profession see more of each other than he and Danneel do.

When he thinks about changing things, though, he's oddly reluctant. He likes things the way they are. Danneel has her life and he has his; they meet in the middle and they get along great, and why should they mess with that?

Even as he thinks it Jensen knows it's a load of crap, but he pretends anyway, because to admit otherwise is to acknowledge that the past ten years of his personal life have been a waste. That's not true; he does love Danneel, and he's not sorry he married her. It's just that now he's wondering if the way he loves her is enough.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks, as Danneel's sitting on the edge of the bed brushing out her hair.

She twists around to face him. "What about?"

Jensen takes a deep breath. "Us."

Danneel goes absolutely still for a second, staring at the floor. Her mouth twists in a funny little smile, but she doesn't show any sign of surprise. Her next words confirm it.

"Oh. It's time for that talk, is it?"

Jensen doesn't bother pretending not to know what she means. He wonders how long she's been waiting for him to grow the balls to have this conversation, then decides he doesn't really want to know the answer to that.

"I," he begins, searching for the words to explain what he's thinking, what he's feeling. "I don't even know how to start," he says helplessly.

"Start at the beginning," Danneel says, not unkindly. "What happened to us?"

Jensen thinks back to the beginning of their relationship, when everything he felt was urgent and desperate and bone-deep; back to when before he had Danneel on his arm, watching her with Riley, and wanting so much that sometimes he couldn't breathe with it. Their first tentative steps toward each other, when everything she said seemed edged with gold and Jensen could hardly speak at all for fear he'd turn into a babbling idiot and lose all credibility forever. And then, God, the day she'd finally turned to him and pulled him in and said, " _You're such an idiot. This is how it's going to be_ ," and kissed the life out of him. Jensen can't remember ever being happier than the day he put that gold wedding band on her finger.

There's one other day that shines just as brightly in his memory, but Jensen doesn't—can't—think of Jared now.

"I love you," is all he can think of to say, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. "I do, Dan. I just—"

"If you say you're not _in love_ with me, I will slit your throat with a steak knife while you sleep," Danneel says calmly. Jensen knows she's joking, but part of him cringes anyway.

"That was never the problem," he says. "At this point I don't remember what it's like to not be in love with you."

Danneel smiles at him, and it's fondness and reminiscence and sorrow all in one.

"I remember how you used to be," she says, tapping his knee with the hairbrush. "All awkward and shy as hell, stumbling over every second word out of your mouth."

Jensen remembers that too, only not nearly as fondly. He was always so afraid of putting a foot wrong with her, saying too much, feeling too much, going too far. He'd schooled himself to restraint, until it got easier to accept the idea that Danneel was his and she wasn't going anywhere.

With Jared, he always had the opposite problem—how to take what Jared was offering him without losing himself in the process.

"I miss that," Danneel says now. "I miss that whole breathless thing, you know? I was always wondering when you were going to break down and spill your guts to me, but you never did." She smiles again, more sadly this time. "And now it's ten years later and you still never did, and that's the fucking problem, Jensen."

Jensen stares at her, feeling her words like a kick to the head. He doesn't know how to parse them; or maybe he does, and he just doesn't want to because he knows she's right.

"I don't understand," he says anyway, because if he can possibly wriggle out of this right now, he's going to try.

"Don't lie to me," Danneel says. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You never let me in, Jensen," and that's when she starts to cry. Jensen's frozen for a good ten seconds before he lunges over the bed and drags her close to him.

"Fuck off," Danneel chokes, but she lets him hold her, and after a minute Jensen has to hide his face in her hair so he doesn't feel his own tears running down his cheeks. It feels like something is cracking inside of him, and he can't stop it, and there's a part of him that doesn't even want to try. That's the part that sits back and observes, saying in a smug little tone _I told you so. I knew this was never gonna work._

Danneel pulls back after a few more minutes and wipes clumsily at her cheeks. Jensen pulls a tissue out of his pocket and offers it; she takes it with a watery smile and blows her nose with an unladylike honk, startling a laugh out of him.

"Well, that was therapeutic," Danneel says finally, tossing the tissue onto the bedside table. "Now let's dig up all our repressed childhood memories, that'll be fun."

"I still remember all those," Jensen says with a shudder. "And if I forget, my mom has that fucking scrapbook to remind me."

"Ah, yes. Assless pants," Danneel replies with a smirk. "Just for the record, that will never not be funny."

"Bitch," Jensen says, totally without heat. "We can't all be featured in 'Maxim'."

"Don't be jealous, baby," she throws back promptly, then sighs, and her mood turns on a dime. "That's part of it too. You stopped being the jealous type."

Jensen's lost already and the conversation's barely started. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"You don't care anymore, Jensen," Danneel says, poking him hard in the chest. "I do a ton of raunchy photoshoots, and you grin and wink and say you like it. I bare ass for a movie and you don't even bat an eye. Ten years ago you'd be tying yourself up in knots over this stuff, and now it's like you don't even notice I'm here." She looks away. "At first it was like you cared too much, and now you don't care at all."

Jensen opens his mouth to reply, although he has no idea what the hell to say, but Danneel continues on with barely a pause for breath.

"I don't think you ever really let yourself go, not ever. And I'm just ... I'm tired of waiting, Jensen. I'm tired of hoping and praying year after year that this time, you'll wake up and realise what you've got, what we've got between us, and that you'll step up and open your fucking mouth and tell me what you _feel_."

She looks at him with tear-streaked cheeks, eyes smudged with black, still so full of hope and wariness and utter fucking strength that Jensen wishes he knew how to give her what she's asking for. He knows what she wants; of course he does. There's that part of himself, the cold, cynical part that's nothing but a shield for the innermost core of his being, where he's softest and defenceless and a harsh word will kill parts he'll never get back. Jensen locked that part of himself off a long time ago, buried it deep, and never let anyone even guess that it was there. He's learned to compensate, learned to love and be loved without it, and sometimes he's been able to forget about it for months or years at a time.

Danneel is one of a very few people who's ever come close to shattering his guard. She's one of only two people that Jensen's ever thought about letting it happen with. But she's right; in the end he kept himself locked down, denying her all of himself, and it's never been fair that he did that when she's given all of herself to him.

"What do you want to do?" he says, running a hand over her hair. "I don't—I still love you, Dan. I don't want to lose you."

"You never really had me," she points out gently, taking his hand. "You never let yourself."

Jensen flinches, but he can't deny her the truth. He shrugs helplessly, falling back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

"So what, then? Divorce? I don't want that." He hates the very idea of it. He always thought his marriage would be for life.

"I can't live like this anymore, Jensen," Danneel tells him. Her voice is breaking again. "I need to try and find something else, something that doesn't make me want to cry all the damn time."

He guesses he can see her point.

"And besides," Danneel goes on, "this isn't just about me. You need to think about this shit, about what you really want out of life. Because I don't think you're getting it." She smooths her hand over his chest. "You have to figure out what's going to make you happy in here. Something has to give, or you're going to end up alone. You weren't meant for that."

She pats him once, leans in for a chaste kiss, and stands up. Jensen watches her throw on a robe and head for the door before he can think of what to say.

"Wait, where are you going?" he asks in confusion. "It's the middle of the night."

"I'm going to get another room," Danneel says matter of factly. "I think that would be best tonight. In the morning I'll drive you to the airport in Lafayette on my way to Mom's." She looks at Jensen, sitting there with his mouth open in shock, and her mouth twists again. "I told you, I can't do this anymore," she says quietly. "It has to end, Jensen. Let's not drag it out, okay?"

“But—” he begins, and then closes his mouth because … she's right. It's over. She wants out, and he's not cruel enough to stop her.

Danneel pauses at the door, turning to look at him.

“Do you remember when you guys were living in Vancouver, and I used to come up and visit on the weekends?” she asks. Jensen nods, the old bitter guilt rising up in his throat. “You were happy, Jensen. The happiest I've ever seen you.” She looks at him intently. “Maybe you should think about that.”

She's gone before he can formulate a reply. Jensen stares at the closed door for a long moment, his mind a whirl of white noise, shock pinning him where he lays. Danneel is leaving him. Right now. His marriage is crumbling right in front of his eyes, and he can't bring himself to stop it.

He should run after her, cause a scene in the hotel lobby, demand that she help him work things out. Swear that he'll try harder, that he can do what she wants, make the effort. But his feet are like lead weights and he can't even get up off the bed, and the thought of promising to open himself up like that fills him with utter dread.

That's when he knows she's right. It's over, if it ever really started at all.

 

* * *

 

**JULY, 2016**

Jared's staring at him as if he's suddenly started speaking in tongues. Or worse, Jensen thinks, slightly panicked: as if Jensen has been speaking in tongues for the past ten years and now Jared thinks he's finally starting to make sense.

"She wasn't ... what?" he asks, almost gentle, as if Jensen is a skittish animal he doesn't want to startle. "Finish your sentence, J."

"Never mind," Jensen mutters. He runs a hand over his face and looks away. "It was over years ago. It doesn't matter now."

"No." Jared takes a step forward, eyes intent, suddenly using his size and presence to box Jensen in. "I think it does matter. I think you should tell me what you were going to say."

Jensen looks up at him, seeing the comprehension on Jared's face like a light bulb burning bright, too bright to look at directly. He fights the heat that rushes immediately to his face, turning sideways so Jared can't influence him. He feels that panic for real, the memories of that last night with Danneel too close to the surface right now.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to," he says finally. "It's all water under the bridge. Let it go, Jared."

"What if I can't?" Jared asks quietly. He steps in closer yet, and Jensen takes a corresponding step back, ending up against the tiny kitchen counter. "What if I keep you here until you tell me what you were going to say?"

"You could try," Jensen says with a snort. "If you wanted to be a total asshole, that is."

He looks at Jared then, glancing back and forth between their positions, with Jensen backed right up against the counter and Jared looming in front, clearly ready to block Jensen if he tries to go anywhere.

"You really want to do this, Jared?" Jensen asks. "You want me to clock you one before you take the hint and back the fuck off?"

"You wouldn't," Jared replies with his chin thrust out confidently. "You always said you could never get angry enough to hit me."

"I haven't seen you in seven years," Jensen points out. "And we've already made it clear that things have changed." He stares Jared down, keeping his face deadly serious, hiding the mad fluttering in his gut at the thought of getting physical with Jared again—properly—after so long. No cameras, no witnesses, nothing to stop them but ... them.

Jared looks at him for a minute, judging his seriousness, and then puts his hands out and takes an exaggerated step back. The softness is gone from his eyes.

"Sorry," he says with a smile as fake as Jensen's ever seen. "Obviously I made a mistake."

"Obviously," Jensen echoes. He relaxes, the release of tension in his shoulders making him feel slightly giddy. "Now, are you gonna let this go?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jared mutters. He turns his back and stalks away, fingers laced behind his head, making his shoulders look a mile wide. A second later he spins back around, frustration written clear across his face.

"Genevieve and I got divorced," he announces, as if it hadn't been front page news in the tabloids for a week or so when it happened. As if Jensen hadn't gotten absolutely shitfaced the day he found out. "It's not like you're the only one, you know."

Jensen plays dumb, because he knows what Jared's getting at but he's too shaken up to talk about this anymore. He wants to go home and lick his reopened wounds.

"Lots of people get divorced, Jared," he says, trying for casual weariness. "It happens every day. I never said there was anything special about mine."

Just like that, Jared is right up in his face, less than a foot of space between them, six feet four inches of focused Padalecki making Jensen's head spin.

"How many of those people get divorced because they can't stop thinking about their best friend?" he breathes, leaning in, and oh God Jensen is so, so fucked.

Jared's staring at his mouth, his gaze flicking up to meet Jensen's, tongue coming out to wet his own lips slow enough that Jensen can almost feel the blood heating in his veins.

"I didn't sleep with her," Jared says in a voice gone suddenly gritty. "The starfucker. I meant to, I was going to, but I couldn't do it. I saw you, and I _couldn't_." His tone drops lower. "Felt like I was cheating on you." He licks his lips again, giving Jensen tiny glimpses of white teeth and wet, pink tongue. "Can't even kiss someone else without thinking of you."

Jensen wants to back off, get some distance between them, but his legs won't work and his heart won't do anything but pound too hard in his chest, and all he can think about is having Jared's mouth on his, finally, and never coming up for air.

He sways, leaning in the slightest bit, not enough to count for anything if Jared were to ask, but enough that he can't deny to himself what he's doing. He can feel Jared's breath on his lips, and he wets them reflexively, tongue coming out and almost—almost—touching the skin of Jared's jaw. He feels the ghost of sensation of stubble, almost-tastes the salt of sweat and the bitter tang of cologne, and he wants it so badly he can't think. Jared's staring at him like he wants to fucking _eat_ him, lips parted, gaze flicking from Jensen's mouth to his eyes and back again, an endless signal loop that makes Jensen's lips tingle like they're already kissing, have been kissing for hours, weeks, a decade.

"Jared," he murmurs, nothing more than a whisper, barely more than an exhale of air passing his lips.

Jared moves a fraction of an inch closer, close enough for Jensen to feel his body heat, for their clothes to be touching, one of Jared's feet edging in between Jensen's own, Jensen's knees widening enough to make room for Jared's thigh.

"Jensen," Jared says in a low, guttural voice, and his hand comes up to hover next to Jensen's face, fingers shadowing the shape of his jaw.

"Jared!" There's a rattling knock on the door of the trailer, shattering the fragile mood. Tony the PA yells, "Bob needs you on set in five!"

Jared bites off a savage curse and drops his hand. Jensen jumps like a startled cat and almost chokes, struggling to stay quiet as Jared yells out his acknowledgement and steps away.

"We're not fucking done here," Jared warns him as he heads for the door. "Don't you even think about going anywhere, Jensen. I'm not doing this cat and mouse shit anymore. We're gonna deal with this once and for all, you hear me?"

He turns and pierces Jensen with one more hard, intense look, gaze raking over him from head to foot. Jared reaches down and adjusts his cock, not even trying to hide it; then he rolls his shoulders to get rid of the tension and blows out a deep breath, shaking out his arms.

"Be here when I get back," he says over his shoulder. "Or I won't be responsible for what happens."

Jensen waits a good five minutes to be sure he's gone, and then he bolts. He might be stupid, but he's not that stupid. He's not ready to deal with this.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later Jensen's holed up in his hotel room with an unopened bottle of scotch and a guilty conscience. The concierge is screening his calls, and they have instructions not to let anybody up to see him unless he calls down in advance. He's running scared, and he knows it, but he's not ashamed enough to give Jared a chance to pick up where they left off earlier today. This is self-defence, pure and simple. Jensen's been protecting himself for too long to give up without a fight.

Somehow, Jared makes it upstairs anyway. Jensen wishes he could be annoyed, but he's known Jared for too long to be surprised by anything he does. He hears Jared's particular knock on his door, _rat-a-tat-tat_ , and something deep in him settles down, purring in satisfaction even as his heart rate kicks up and his fight or flight response takes over.

"Go away," he yells, only half hoping it will work. He hears Jared's snort clearly through the door.

"Yeah, right," Jared yells back. "Open the fucking door, man, or I'll stay out here until you do."

Jensen doesn't move. The door mocks him, white and gleaming and totally judgmental.

"I'm not kidding," Jared calls out. "I will check into this place and live here in the hallway. I'll pile up room service trays until the walls collapse, and I'll tell everyone it's because you were too fucking chickenshit to open the door and _talk to me_."

Jared's voice is breaking by the time he gets to the end of his rant, and he doesn't sound determined any more. He sounds desperate and a little broken, and by the time Jensen realises what he's doing he's already at the door. His hands shake as he turns the lock and slides away the safety chain, stepping back and turning away as soon as the door opens so he doesn't have to see Jared's face. If he looks at Jared's face right now, it'll all be over.

He hears the door shut quietly behind them, and Jared's footsteps falling with dull thuds on the thickly carpeted floor. He moves away instantly, skittish as all hell, hands shoved into the sleeves of his sweater and gripping his forearms so tight his fingers are already tingling from lack of circulation.

"Jensen," Jared pleads. "Come on, man. Throw me a fuckin' bone here, will you? It's been twelve years, for crying out loud. Can we please just talk about this?"

And suddenly, just like that, Jensen's had enough.

"No!" he explodes, spinning around and Jared is _right there_ , in his space again like always. It's so familiar and expected that it perversely makes him furious, and he gives Jared a shove. "No, we can't fucking talk about it, Jared, because I don't fucking know what to say! I don't have any words for what you are, all right? Is that what you want to hear? I spent twelve years of my life ignoring what you mean to me, and I got to be really fucking good at it, and I can't just flip a switch now and be okay with this. I can't. It's fucked up and I'm fucked up and I just ... I left my fucking wife for you, man, and it didn't matter that you didn't even _know_."

He pauses for breath, chest heaving with exertion and emotion, feeling hot and cold flashes all over his body as the adrenalin courses through his system. Jared's gaze is pinning him in place, almost pure gold and sharp like knives cutting right through his skin into the soft, tender, delicate places beneath. Jensen sees the flush bloom high on Jared's cheekbones, sees it spread down into his chest, edging over the skin at his neck where his shirt shows a tantalising glimpse of corded muscle.

"I just can't do this," Jensen says helplessly, backing away. "It's been too long, and too much has happened, and I just ... I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."

Jared shakes his head, his mouth pressed into a grim line. "I never figured you for a coward, Jensen," he says. "Never figured you were the kind of guy who'd cut and run just because things got hard." He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "Guess I was wrong about you."

"Guess so," Jensen manages to say, even as his heart's breaking into a million tiny fractured pieces and every nerve in his body is screaming to be touching Jared and to never, ever let go.

Jared looks at him for a minute longer, as if he's memorising Jensen's face, and then he nods and shrugs and smiles, the public smile, the fake one, the one that makes Jensen itch to clown it up and make him smile for real.

"Okay, fine. We're done. Sorry to disturb you," Jared says. "Guess I'll be going now."

He walks to the door and puts his hand on the knob, pausing again as if waiting for Jensen to stop him, rush over there, grab his hand and pull him around and slam him up against the wall. But Jensen stays where he is, ten feet and forever away, held captive by his own insecurities and the fear that if he lets go, if he lets this happen, he'll fall into Jared and disappear.

"Goodbye, Jensen," Jared says without turning around. "Have a nice life." He walks through the door and closes it behind him, and Jensen's knees give out, tumbling him to the floor.

 

* * *

 

_Get up. Get the fuck up, you fucking loser, and go after him. Do it right now or you're going to lose him, and if that happens you might as well throw yourself off a fucking bridge, and you know it._

_Get. The fuck. Up._

 

* * *

 

Jensen's up and moving before the thought finishes forming in his mind. He can do this if he doesn't think about it. He doesn't _need_ to think about it; it's always been Jared, always, from the very first moment they met. He's just been too terrified to admit it.

So he doesn't. He just runs out the door and down the hallway, hoping and praying that the elevator is slow tonight.

He rounds the corner of the hallway and sees the doors closing, Jared's lanky form reflected in the mirrors lining the interior of the car. Jensen spins on his heel and races back toward the stairs, straight-arming through the door and pounding down the four flights as fast as his legs will carry him, praying he doesn't trip and break his neck because that would really, really suck right now.

He explodes out of the stairwell into the lobby, which is thankfully deserted except for the desk manager and a couple of bellboys. They look over at him curiously, but this hotel is too high-priced and discreet for the staff to ask questions and since Jensen isn't obviously injured or in distress, they simply stare for a moment and then go pointedly back to their duties. Jensen gasps and heaves and promises himself that workout or no workout, he'll hire a personal trainer the minute he gets home, if only he beat the goddamn elevator down.

There's a quiet, classy little _ding_ above his head, and Jensen looks up. The doors in front of him slide open; there's Jared, surrounded by a group of five older yuppie types dressed for a night at the opera. Jared's at the back, eyes on the ground, and he waits for the other people to exit in front of him like the polite Texas boy he is.

Jensen waits for them all to step out, and then he moves forward, plants a hand in Jared's chest and shoves him back inside.

"We're not done here," he growls. "We're never going to be done, do you hear me?" He walks Jared back until his body hits the wall, slamming the heel of his other hand into the button to close the doors, giving a mental finger to the security cameras as he leans in and breathes deep of Jared's scent and slams their mouths together in a kiss that's been twelve years in the making.

 

* * *

 

They stumble out of the elevator onto Jensen's floor, still kissing, one of Jared's hands gripping Jensen's neck, Jensen's fingers tucked into Jared's waistband pulling him backward along the hall. Jared's making little noises and breathing disjointed words into Jensen's mouth, but Jensen can't stop kissing him long enough to let him speak. He eats the sounds, licks them out of the air, bites at Jared's mouth to get him to stop being so fucking distracting. He has no idea if they're seen by anybody; he doesn't care if they are. His entire being is focused on getting Jared behind a closed door and then trying his best to fuck him right through it, and everything else can go to hell.

Jensen's room is at the end of the hall, the last door on the left. He sees it in the corner of his eye, pulls his mouth away from Jared's and reaches into his pocket for the keycard. Jared starts kissing his neck instead, down his jaw and under his ear and then across his nape as Jensen turns to get the door open. A deep shudder wracks Jensen's body; his neck is an erogenous zone, and having Jared's soft lips and tongue all over it is making it impossible to think. He nearly drops the card twice before shoving it in the slot, and sags a little against Jared in relief as the light turns green and the door clicks open.

"Inside," Jared breathes in his ear, hands on Jensen's hips and pushing. "Hurry up, I want—"

Jensen turns in his hold and pulls him in by his shirt, kicking the door shut and then slamming Jared up against it. Jared grunts and slouches, widens his stance, their hips lining up and cocks pushing together, drawing moans from them both. Jensen kisses him again, deep, imprinting Jared's taste and the feel of him in his bones so he never forgets. Jared's hands are strong on his back and ass, one leg wrapped around Jensen's knees, hips grinding slow and heavy, making Jensen see spots of bright colour behind his eyes.

He takes it for a few minutes, drinks it in, soaks in Jared's heat and want until it's not enough anymore, and then he pulls Jared away from the door, walking backward again into the bedroom. Jared's eyes are closed, but they fly open when Jensen starts unbuttoning Jared's shirt, dipping down to taste warm skin and rub his face against rough-silk hair. He wants to drown in sensation, wrap himself in miles of Jared so tight he can never find his way out.

"Jensen, hey," Jared says, voice hoarse, "shh, wait, we can do this slow, we can—"

"Can't wait," Jensen grits out, face buried in Jared's chest. "Don't want to fucking wait, Jared, wasted too many years already." He bites Jared's nipple, sucks on it, looks up to meet Jared's burning gaze. "No more fucking waiting, I can't."

His voice breaks, and his hands shake as he gets the last button on Jared's shirt. He slides his palms up, pushing it away; it hangs on Jared's shoulders for an endless moment as they stare at each other, barely breathing.

"Oh, Jesus," Jared whispers, and then he's taking his hands off Jensen and he's shrugging the shirt away, and Jensen rips his sweater over his head and falls back onto the unmade bed, dragging Jared with him.

Jared's solid and real above him, anchoring Jensen and spinning him out of control at the same time. He arches up to feel more, arms going around Jared's body, one hand automatically going up to grip his hair and keep him close for a kiss. Jared leans into it, weighing Jensen down, and already he doesn't know how he's lived for so long without this. He kisses Jared until he can't anymore, forces his mouth away to gasp for air.

Jared breaks away, slides out of reach down the bed; Jensen panics for a second until Jared stops, kneeling by Jensen's hips, one hand trailing down to rest on Jensen's belt. His eyes are questioning, but Jensen's already toeing his shoes off, raising up when Jared's fingers curl around loosened denim. Jared draws everything off at once, jeans and shorts and socks, and Jensen is lying naked and exposed on the bed for the longest moment of his life. Then Jared is tearing off the rest of his own clothes and coming back, lying on his side and watching Jensen's face with a hungry look as he takes hold of Jensen's cock.

Jensen arches, a choked-off moan escaping him; he fists the bedsheets, reaches up to grip the headboard, knees parting wide of their own volition. He hears Jared's guttural, " _Fuck_ , Jensen," but it doesn't register over the sheer animal pleasure of Jared touching him. Long, capable fingers and wide, rough palm, wrapping around him and stroking slow, fingertips teasing at the head, skipping down to fondle his balls. Jensen's head goes back and his hips rise up, demanding more, and then Jared leans over and starts kissing the line of his jaw, murmuring into his skin.

"Five minutes after we met I wanted to get my hands on you." Lickscrapekiss. "So fucking gorgeous, Jensen ... been wanting this for years, you asshole, making me wait, making _us_ wait. Christ, if I'd known you'd be this hot I'd have jumped you on the first fucking day." He scrapes his teeth down Jensen's neck, bites at the dip in his throat, sucks a red mark over it. "Worth the wait, though. Worth every minute, you perfect fucking _bastard_."

"Jesus," Jensen bites out. He rolls, pushes Jared flat, shoves Jared's arms over his head and pins them there, staring down at him. Jared's eyes are a little glazed, mouth open, the tendons in his wrists flexing as he tests the strength of Jensen's grip.

Jensen is kneeling astride Jared's body, feeling the sharp cut of Jared's hipbones, the heat of him against his inner thighs. He presses down, slides back, watches Jared's face as his ass comes into contact with Jared's rock-hard erection. Jared inhales sharply and his hips jerk, so Jensen does it again, and again, setting up a rhythm that pleases them both, sweat building and breaking to ease the way. He leans down and presses small kisses over Jared's chest, bites when Jared starts thrusting up, mock-fucking, winding up the tension a little more. Jensen knows where this is going, has known since he got up off the floor, but he's not sure Jared's on the same page. Time to fix that.

"You wanna fuck me, Jared?" he says, sliding up to Jared's mouth, licking across Jared's parted lips. "'Cause you can. I want it. Wanna get you right up inside me, keep you there forever." He swallows Jared's moan, lets go of his wrists to wind his fingers in too-long college-boy hair, draws Jared's tongue into his mouth and sucks on it until Jared makes a sound low in his throat and flips them over again, coming down hard and heavy between Jensen's spread legs.

"Fucking hell, Jensen," Jared growls, hands on Jensen's knees, keeping them splayed wide. "This what you want?"

"Fucking _yes_ ," Jensen hisses back. "Fuck me, goddamnit, fuck me _right now_ —"

He breaks off, shoving his fingers in his mouth, slicking them up and shutting himself up at the same time. He brings them out wet and shiny with spit, tilts his pelvis up and can't stop the noise he makes when he slips two fingers inside. Jared is watching, he can feel it, but Jensen's eyes are shut tight and he's concentrating on stretching, loosening up, hoping like hell Jared doesn't change his mind because if this falls apart now, he's gonna fucking die.

"Christ," Jared's saying, "Christ, Jensen, so fucking hot, wanna ..." And then he feels wetness around his ass, and a tickling sensation that quickly turns into holy God _insanity_ because Jared is licking him open, around Jensen's fingers, pushing his tongue in on the next stroke and Jensen is really fucking going to die. Then Jared lifts his ass, hooks Jensen's knees over his shoulders, and Jensen's entire back is off the bed, supported by Jared's hands as they finger and rim Jensen's ass until he's almost mindless from the shivering, aching pleasure of it.

Jensen becomes aware, slowly, that he's talking, that a steady stream of words and curses are coming out of his mouth like a mantra. "Fuck me, fuck me, Jared, fucking fuck me, Jesus Christ I'm gonna kill you if you don't fucking _fuck me_ , it's too good, so fucking good, I can't," and then his ass hits the bed and Jared's gone for five seconds, an eternity, coming back with a packet of lubricant in his hands and a condom wrapper clenched in his teeth. Jensen sits up and reaches for the condom as Jared tears the lubricant open, his skin hot and itchy with want, pinching the latex tip and leaning down to suck the head of Jared's cock into his mouth before he rolls the condom over it. Jared growls again, incoherent, shoves Jensen back on the bed and brings lube-coated fingers to his ass. Jensen grabs his calves and hugs his knees to his chest, shoulder-wide, tries not to keen as Jared's fingers breach him and slick him up inside.

Then Jared's chest is pressing into his legs and his cock is nudging, finding, catching briefly and sliding in, and Jensen knows he makes a noise but he can't hear anything except the rapid-fire pounding of his heart. He's stretching, filling up with Jared, unable to breathe and not caring because he doesn't feel alone anymore. Jared is right there with him, in the deepest part of him, hands tight on Jensen's arms, head thrown back and the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief. He pulls back and slides in heavily for a second thrust, deeper and harder this time, the curving width of him rubbing Jensen inside, over his prostate and dragging a low, deep moan from his chest.

"There," Jared breathes, his satisfaction clear, and then he's drawing back and thrusting in over and over, steady like a piston, like a fucking machine. Jensen's legs are locking around his shoulders and he's gripping the headboard again, biting his lip so he doesn't yell, as every fuck of Jared's cock winds him up tighter than sprung steel. Jensen forces his eyes open and looks at Jared, hazy with lust, seeing his eyes wide and fixed on Jensen's face. Jared smiles, incredibly sweet for someone fucking like a satyr, and Jensen feels the first trembling of his orgasm clenching deep and low in his spine.

He lets go of the headboard on the next stroke and brings his legs down, using the leverage to roll them over again. Jared's cock slips out of him but that's no problem; Jensen sits up, one hand braced on Jared's heaving chest and the other holding his cock. He slowly impales himself, feeling every hot inch as it slips inside, leaning back to find the best angle, Jared's knees and strong thighs behind him. Jensen moves his hands to Jared's hips, lifts himself up, slides back down, and then Jared's hand is on his cock and Jensen's higher brain functions just _stop_.

He can hear himself talking again, mindlessly, but it's distant, unimportant. The important thing is Jared's hand on his cock, Jared's cock in his ass, giving Jensen everything he's ever wanted. He feels full and wanted and connected, a part of Jared, something he's never let himself feel before. He reacts to that on blind instinct, chasing after the feeling with faster and faster thrusts, slamming down and wrenching himself up only to slam himself down harder, Jared's hand stripping him up and down and the look in Jared's eyes his entire fucking world.

Jared's saying something, his lips moving, but Jensen's not listening. His eyes slip closed and his hips jerk, once, twice, stuttering and then he's tipping over onto Jared's chest, his knees giving out as his orgasm rips through him. He paints long white stripes over Jared's chest, his own stomach, pungent and sticky, Jared milking them out of him until he's shuddering and pulling away. Jared's still hard inside him, still thrusting but gently now; Jensen shifts onto his side, leg slung over Jared's hip, and buries his head in the curve of Jared's neck.

"Please," he says, and it's as close to begging as he's ever been.

" _Jensen_ ," Jared says, broken and harsh, but his hands are warm on Jensen's hips and he fucks in slowly now, slow and deep, three strokes and four and then he bottoms out and goes completely still, his mouth pressing kisses in Jensen's hair. His hand slides back up to Jensen's neck as if by default, holding him close as Jared's body wracks and shudders and he groans low and long, the vibrations of it going straight to Jensen's heart.

Jared slumps back, bringing Jensen with him; he slips free of Jensen's body, leaving Jensen feeling bereft and satisfied at once. Jensen helps with the condom, tying it off, dropping it over the side of the bed with a half-formed mental note to pick it up later. Jared's fingers are trailing through the stickiness on his chest; he brings a fingertip to his mouth to taste, and Jensen closes his eyes against it because he's already broken into a thousand pieces and he can't fucking take any more.

"Sleep," Jared tells him, kissing his forehead. "We'll talk later."

Jensen's already fading, barely feels it when Jared swipes a corner of the sheet over his belly, but he knows when Jared pulls him close, and that's what sends him down into sleep.

 

* * *

 

It's dark when Jensen wakes up. The curtains are still open, and he can see well enough by the city light filtering in from outside. Jared is deeply asleep beside him, one arm curled loosely across Jensen's hips. He looks about twenty, like the enthusiastic kid Jensen first met.

Jensen closes his eyes and eases away from Jared's warmth, edging off the bed until he stands beside it, shaking.

_What the fuck did you do_ , he thinks. Shock is seeping through him, sending him into hot and cold flashes, turning his knees to water and his mind to panic. _What did you_ do _, you stupid fucking fuck, what the hell did you do, and what the fuck are you going to do now?_

The answer to that, at least, is simple.

He runs.

 

* * *

 

_"Hey, it's me. I, uh, I woke up and you were gone, and I just ... wanted to check in and make sure everything's okay. Gimme a call when you get this, okay? Doesn't matter what time. Just call me."_

 

* * *

 

_"Jensen, come on, man. This shit isn't funny. You avoiding me now, or what? That isn't gonna work, you gotta know that. We're not gonna do this again. Fucking call me, asshole."_

 

* * *

 

_"You can't pretend it didn't happen, you know. I won't let you. And you gotta face it sometime. We're in the middle of filming a fucking movie, in case you'd forgotten." Pause. "Just talk to me, will you? It's just you and me, J. What are you so scared of?"_

 

* * *

 

Jensen calls Tony on set just after seven o'clock and gets his call times for the next two days. He's not needed until midday, which gives him enough time to return to the hotel, shower, and get a few hours' sleep. The room is empty and the sheets have been changed, for which he's grateful. Any reminders of last night would be unbearable right now.

Jared's voicemails sit unanswered on his phone. Jensen knows he has to call him, and he will. Just ... later. He's tired and his head is fucked up, and he needs to sleep and then straighten himself out before he can talk about it. He's embarrassed just thinking about it. Fuck, talk about needy. This is why he never wanted to get involved with Jared in the first place. It's too much. Jensen is off-kilter because of it, and he doesn't like it.

He'll sleep, get his head on straight, and then he'll call Jared and tell him it was a mistake. They're friends, and they'll always be friends, but Jensen can't take anything more. One night with Jared is enough to send him off the edge; he doesn't want to live his whole life like this.

Jared makes him feel too much.

He takes a quick shower and crawls into bed, pulling the sheets up around his neck. In the midst of REM sleep he reaches out, pulls the pillow Jared slept on tight to his chest and whispers Jared's name.

 

* * *

 

"Jared."

Jensen shoves his hands in his pockets and narrowly stops himself from kicking the dirt. He watches Jared's head snap up from his iPhone, sees relief, anger and happiness on his face before Jared takes in his closed-off expression.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Jared's out of his chair in an instant, phone forgotten, stopping short just inside Jensen's personal space. He raises a hand to touch but drops it a second later, hesitating. "You okay? Did something happen?"

"Yeah. No." Jensen shakes his head, takes a breath. "I got your messages."

Jared's face grows cautious. He looks around; they're on set, thirty or more people in earshot of their conversation.

"Let's go to my trailer," Jared suggests. Jensen shakes his head again.

"No. I just want to say ... it was a mistake." He forces himself to look Jared in the eye. "And it won't be repeated."

He makes himself watch as Jared's expression changes, goes from shock to disbelief to open, bone-deep hurt. Watches Jared reach for him involuntarily, and takes a careful step back. Then Jared gets control of himself, mindful of their audience, a mask of casual acceptance coming down over the anguish in his eyes.

"You're sure about that?" Jared asks.

"Yes." Jensen makes his voice hard. Certain. "I ... can't do it. I'm sorry, but I can't."

There's a long pause, which feels like the world is holding its breath. Jared looks at him without blinking, green-brown gaze like a whip scoring Jensen's skin, burrowing into the deepest parts of him, looking for the things he keeps hidden. Then Jared smiles, a curve of lips that's full of pain but no defeat.

"I think we'll have to disagree on that," he says. "I'm not gonna throw in the towel just yet."

Jensen takes that for the warning it is. He shrugs and walks away, a restrained retreat, knowing Jared's watching him all the while. There's a small, unsettling feeling at the bottom of his gut.

He refuses to call it _relief_.

 

* * *

 

Jensen spends a lot of time trying to erase that one night from his memory. He increases his workout regime, starts a frenzy of script-reading (which sends Angie into paroxysms of professional joy), and every moment he's not in front of the camera he's behind it, following Bob and the second unit director around, asking question after question to fill in the time.

It works, kind of. Until he goes back to his hotel at the end of the day and falls into bed. He can't control his subconscious; the best he can do is ignore the dreams and hope they eventually go away.

 

* * *

Stuart's in the middle of putting together the world's most complicated take-out order when a familiar voice intrudes on his thoughts.

"Hey, Stuart. Got a minute?"

He looks up, a smile already in place, and sees Jack on the other side of the counter wearing a strained smile. Jack appears nervous, and Stuart has no idea why; on the up side, he also looks really sharp, decked out in a dark grey suit and red power tie that makes Stuart's mind immediately go to places it really shouldn't when he's handling knives. He puts down the cleaver and wipes his hands on his apron.

"Hey, you. What's up?"

Jack fidgets for a second, poking at the novelty salt and pepper shakers they keep by the register, turning the salt shaker over and over in his hands. It looks delicate in his grip, and Stuart represses a shudder at the thought of what those hands would feel like on his skin.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?" Jack asks eventually, eyes on the salt shaker.

Stuart stops breathing for a second. Tomorrow is Friday. Friday night, traditionally, is date night. And Jack is asking him if he's doing anything. This has to be it. Please, please let this be it. His hair is totally amazing today and everything.

"Nope," Stuart replies, as casually as he can with his heart thundering away in his chest. "Why? You need a pie baked on short notice or something?"

Jack's mouth quirks in a half grin, there and then gone, and he shakes his head. "Nah," he says, "although if you were of a mind to do that, I wouldn't exactly say no."

He looks up finally, eyes sharp on Stuart's face without his bangs falling into his face like usual. His hair is slicked back today, cool and professional to match the suit.

"I wondered if you wanted to come over tomorrow night, hang out, maybe catch a game on TV," Jack says, and Stuart grips the edge of the counter hard and tries not to fall over.

"That, uh," he has to stop and clear his throat. "That sounds great. What time?"

Jack's smile is easier now that the words are out and the deed is done.

"About seven?" he suggests. "I've got dinner covered, but you should probably bring whatever beer you want to drink. I'm not much of a drinker, I'm afraid."

"Okay, cool," Stuart says with a nod. "Uh, your address?"

Jack starts, a quick flush passing over his face. "Oh, right, of course." He pulls a card out of his pocket, looks at it, puts it away in a hurry and brings out a small notepad instead. Stuart watches as he scribbles down his address and hands it over the counter. Their fingers brush, but Stuart's too nervous to tell if he feels anything.

"Okay," Stuart says, waving the paper and tucking it into his jeans pocket. "Guess I'll see you at seven tomorrow, then."

"Okay. Good," Jack says, and then seems to run out of steam. He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, as if unsure what to do now. Stuart watches him for a minute, feeling off-kilter and wondering why.

"I, uh, should get back to work now," he says after a second. He gestures at the line at the other register, down the far end of the counter. "People want their lunches and afternoon snacks. Unless you wanna ... come back here for a second?" He tilts his head at the door marked 'Employees Only'; it's the small staff room off the kitchen, perfect for a little unscheduled makeout session.

"No! I mean, I can't. I have to go. I have a meeting," Jack says, coughing, and he starts backing away. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," Stuart says with his most inviting grin, and frowns when Jack waves at him weakly and beats a hasty retreat from the cafe. "That was weird," he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.

Well, Jack had looked nervous. Maybe he was the shy type under all that smoking hotness. Stuart shrugs and fingers the paper in his pocket again, smiling at what it represents. He has a date. With Jack. This is the best of all possible outcomes of knocking a guy down in the street.

Stuart shakes himself and goes back to work, humming tunelessly and smiling so much the customers probably think he's medicated. He doesn't care; he just bides his time and thinks about tomorrow, and gives serious thought to baking that pie. He wonders if Jack likes cherry.


	5. Chapter 5

All day Friday, Stuart's in a kind of daze. He keeps having to pinch himself to remember that no, he's not dreaming, and yes, he actually does have a date with the guy of his dreams tonight. It's so far from anything he might have expected when he spilled coffee on Jack's suit; it's pretty far from anything Stuart might have expected ever, come to that. He doesn't usually get this lucky.

And if Stuart's any judge of the flirting they've done so far, which he definitely is, he thinks they might be doing a little more than just hanging out tonight.

When five-thirty rolls around, he's out the door, not stopping to have a post-work drink with the others as he normally would. He stops at the liquor store on his way home and buys a six pack, figuring he'll leave some of it at Jack's--hey, if Jack's not a beer drinker, maybe he'll ask Stuart back over to drink the rest of it, right? Positive thinking is key.

Stuart hums his way through a shower and debates shaving for a minute, running a hand over his sandpapery skin and deciding it'll do. He likes a little stubble himself, and the image of Jack's pretty face all red and roughed up with beard burn does interesting things to his mood. He's practically singing when he finishes fussing with his hair and throws open his closet door.

He opts for comfortable jeans and a plain black sweater, the cashmere one his sister gave him for Christmas. It's a little too warm for it, maybe, but Stuart knows how damn touchable it is and he's willing to suffer a little in order to inspire Jack as much as possible. Besides, if it gets too hot he'll just ... take it off.

He slides his socked feet into low heeled boots and slaps on a little cologne, and he's good to go, whistling as he heads out the door.

It's a twenty minute bus ride to Jack's place. Stuart gets there a little early, so he decides to wander the street for a few minutes, and happens across a patisserie half a block down. He buys a few cannoli and some cherry strudel on impulse, and heads back up to Jack's place with his arms laden with food and drink.

"I come bearing gifts," he announces when Jack answers the door. "I hope that patisserie down the street doesn't suck, because the cannoli look amazing." He puts the white bakery box into Jack's hands with a grin and swings the bag holding his beer. "Where should I put this?"

Jack blinks and steps back, a surprised expression on his face. "Uh, the kitchen's in there," he says, pointing. Stuart deposits his beer in the fridge and leans on the counter, looking around.

"Nice place," he says admiringly, because it is.

He already figured Jack must have a great job, to be able to dress the way he does, but the apartment clinches it. It's all high ceilings and original mouldings and hardwood floors, and Stuart's willing to bet there's real marble in the bathroom. He likes it, though; it's comfortable rather than formal, and there are personal touches all over the place: a book lying facedown on the coffee table, one of Jack's suit jackets thrown over the back of a chair. There are family photos on the mantel, and Stuart wants to take a closer look, but he gets distracted by Jack walking around him to put the box on the counter.

"Thanks. I like it," Jack says with a shrug. "Did you have any trouble finding it?"

"Nope."

They fall silent for a minute, and Stuart wonders what's supposed to happen now. He didn't exactly expect them to fall into each other's arms or anything, but this is a little more awkward than he'd anticipated.

"So which game are we watching tonight?" he asks, figuring that'll get the conversational ball rolling.

"Uh," Jack stammers, looking a little guilty. "I ... okay, I sort of lied when I said we could watch a game. I don't actually have cable at the moment." He rolls his eyes. "It's a long story, but basically Comcast is screwing with me, and I'm trying to screw them back, and they're winning. So yeah, no cable." He chews on his lip, looking at Stuart hopefully. "Do you mind if we just watch a movie or something? I have DVDs. Your pick."

Stuart grins. "Sure."

He can do a movie. It's going to make things harder, because he won't have the distraction of a game to stop him from leaping on Jack and doing unmentionable things to him, but on the other hand, maybe Jack wouldn't exactly mind.

Jack looks relieved at his answer. Stuart grins to himself and wonders whether tonight's going to end with a lot of messy necking on that very comfortable-looking couch. He could get behind that, for sure.

Jack shoos him into the living room and brings him a beer. There's a few minutes' discussion over what they should watch; Stuart doesn't really mind, but he keeps suggesting chick flicks until Jack catches on and throws a cushion at him.

"Ass," he says, though he's grinning as if he can't help himself.

"Oh, come on, you know you love _The Princess Diaries_ ," Stuart teases. "Although the sequel's better. That guy in it, the one she ends up with? Total hotass."

"If you say so," Jack says dismissively, and Stuart gasps.

"You haven't seen it? Oh, we are so going DVD shopping, mister." He keeps his face dead serious for as long as he can, which is long enough to see the look of pure horror that crosses Jack's face. Then Stuart loses it completely and collapses on the couch, burying his face in the cushions as he laughs.

"Dude, that was too easy," he says when he's stopped laughing. "Although Chris Pine really is a hotass," he adds thoughtfully. "I love his Captain Kirk."

"Oh, bite me," Jack mutters, slapping him upside the head. "See if I ever believe anything that comes out of your mouth again."

Stuart turns his head to the side and grins, not bothering to sit up.

"Oh, I think there are plenty of things that could come out of my mouth that you'd just love to believe," he murmurs, just loud enough for Jack to hear.

The response is gratifying, if somewhat puzzling; Jack startles as if someone tasered him, and he stares at Stuart for a good thirty seconds before getting up and heading into the kitchen like something's burning in there. Stuart can hear him banging things around, and he grins to himself. Underneath that flirty exterior, Jack _is_ shy. This could be fun.

Two hours later, Stuart's a lot less amused and a hell of a lot more confused. He has no idea what kind of game Jack's playing, but he doesn't understand the rules. He'd thought they were on the same page when he agreed to this date; now he's starting to wonder if Jack even knows it _is_ a date. And if that's the case, Stuart needs to seriously work on his game, because he's crashing and burning badly in the romance department and he doesn't know how to turn things around.

Every time he makes a vaguely flirty comment, or shifts closer, or hell, even looks in Jack's direction for too long, Jack turns into a stiff, jittery guy who can't sit still and won't get within five feet of him. He's perfectly fine as long as Stuart stays on his side of the couch; they throw popcorn at each other and the TV and mock the action sequences loudly and in great detail (nobody ever claimed _The Fast & The Furious_ was a good movie, after all), and as long as it's on that 'just good buddies' footing, everything's fine. But the second Stuart starts to progress things to a more intimate setting, Jack seems to freeze. Stuart doesn't know what he's doing wrong, but he's about ready to call the whole thing off. Shyness he can understand, although Jack really doesn't seem the type, but this blowing hot and cold deal that Jack has going on tonight is more than he's willing to deal with.

Stuart takes another look at Jack from the corner of his eye, sighing internally at those long legs crossed casually at the knee, one hand idly tapping out a rhythm on his thigh. Maybe he can put up with a bit of cat and mouse, or whatever this is, after all. He really does like Jack, although tonight's events have cooled him off somewhat, he has to admit. It's no fun if you have to force the mood, and even less fun if you're the only one feeling it. Stuart's been down that path before, and he doesn't want to do it again.

He stops trying to treat the evening like it's a date, and just tries to enjoy Jack's company instead. It goes a whole lot smoother after that, but when he leaves at the end of the night, Stuart feels restless and unsatisfied.

Jack walks him to the door, and Stuart hesitates when he reaches the threshold. He's standing in the hall, Jack's hand on the door ready to close it, and Stuart has no idea whether to expect a goodnight kiss.

"Thanks for tonight," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I had fun."

Jack smiles, looking more relaxed than he has all night. He leans against the door, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and he looks so good Stuart wants to stand here forever.

"Me too," Jack says. "Thanks for coming."

Stuart stops himself from making the obvious joke, and just nods instead. Jack looks awkward for a second, hovering on his side of the doorway, and then he lurches forward a couple of steps and pulls Stuart into a one-armed hug, not letting go of the door.

It feels wrong. Not unpleasant or unwelcome, just ... wrong. It's nothing like being pressed up against Jack's body the day they met. Stuart puts his arm around Jack and squeezes him quickly, but he doesn't try to linger when Jack pulls away.

"I'll see you," Jack promises, and Stuart forces a smile.

"Definitely," he says.

Jack nods and closes the door, leaving Stuart on the other side of it wondering what the hell just went wrong. He spent five hours in Jack's company, and it was fun, but it didn't feel anything like he expected. There was no spark; no shiver of reaction whenever Jack looked at him, the way it had been at their first couple of meetings. And just now, that hug--he can't explain it, but everything about it was off.

Stuart heads for home with his head down, feet scuffing along the pavement, the picture of dejection. He really hopes their connection wasn't a one-time thing. He's tired of being alone.

 

* * *

 

Jensen has a problem.

He's starting to sympathise with Stuart on a level entirely beyond that of an actor studying his character. Jensen's at the point where Stuart feels natural, easy, in a way no other character has been except Dean Winchester. And seeing as how Dean Winchester has basically ruined Jensen for any other dramatic lead in a TV series, he thinks he's right to be a little worried. Stuart and Dean are entirely too _close_ , too deep under his skin. He's putting a little too much of himself on film again but he can't seem to stop.

He sits in his trailer running lines, and finds himself thinking about Stuart and Jack and Logan as if they were real people instead of fictional constructs. It ought to be embarrassing, and it is, but Jensen's own problems are harder to fix than a case of mistaken identity. It's something of a relief for him to escape into Stuart's head for a while. Stuart's wondering about Jack's intentions, scared of being hurt; Jensen knows Jared's intentions, but Jared continues to confuse the hell out of him anyway, and this is the crux of Jensen's problem.

After the way Jensen cut and ran the night they slept together, he was expecting Jared to give up on him completely. But that's not what's happening here. Instead, Jared apparently intends to make himself so desirable, so lovable, so ridiculously outright adorable, that Jensen will either break down or go crazy.

There was the day Jensen was doing a soundbite interview for some website or other, and Jared walked up behind him, slid his hands down Jensen's chest and hugged him like a lover, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek. Jensen refuses to admit that his skin tingled everywhere Jared had touched for hours afterward. Jared keeps looking at him with flirty eyes the likes of which Jensen hasn't seen since before Genevieve. And _smiling_ , cute little grins and blinding smiles and Jensen's favourite, the quiet half-curl to Jared's lips that only happens when he's really happy. There's the not-quite-accidental brushing against Jensen in passing, and getting him coffee and massaging his shoulders and fixing his hair or clothes—small things, inconsequential to anyone else, but to Jensen it brings to mind memories of house-sharing and quiet early mornings and Jared always at his side.

There are more recent memories, too. He can't forget the way it felt to have Jared all over him, filling him up, no matter how hard he tries. It was the most perfect thing he's ever felt, the most complete he's ever been, and no amount of repression or denial is making that feeling go away. It's right there every time Jared looks at him, every time he smiles or lays a hand on him. The panic Jensen felt when he woke up afterward is still there, but it's a mere pinprick next to the utter gaping Jared-shaped wound he's carrying around.

Jensen tries to ignore it all, shove it into a lockbox in his mind and keep the lid closed tight, but it's just too much. Jared's permeated every corner of his world, every aspect of his life, and there's no way to root him out. If he's honest with himself, which he rarely is, he doesn't even want to try. Jared's been the best part of so much of his life and, scared or not, denial or no, Jensen can't lose that.

He just wishes Jared would do something, anything, to take the weight of this decision off his shoulders, make it easy for Jensen to give in, accept it, rather than sit back and watch and force Jensen to think about it.

Eventually, he comes to a point where he can't stand his own emotional see-saw anymore. So he does something that makes no sense, the one thing that strikes him as completely crazy: he asks Jared out. If that doesn't spur Jared into action, nothing will.

"Hey," he says awkwardly, one day toward the end of filming, "are you free tonight? I want ... I'd like to take you out. For dinner. We could, um. Catch up, maybe talk about the script a little?"

Jared looks at him thoughtfully for a second over the top of his iPhone, and Jensen finds himself holding his breath, fidgeting as he waits. He can't remember how many times they've had dinner together, but this time it's important. It's their first real date. The idea is almost funny after everything that's happened, after so many years of removing any sort of romantic attachment from his thoughts of Jared, and Jensen just sort of lets it sit there in his mind for a moment, seeing how it fits.

"Okay," Jared says after a moment. "Fair warning: I'm gonna want dessert." He grins, a flash of the old familiar Jared, and Jensen breathes a sigh of relief.

He relaxes for a good half hour or so before he starts worrying about how the evening will go.

Jared doesn't seem concerned; he's as upbeat and chatty as ever, both with Jensen and the crew, and Jensen begins to feel like a prize idiot for thinking it matters. He needs to calm the fuck down, and he needs to get a grip on this obsession or he's going to be alone for the rest of his life.

Yeah, Jensen can definitely see parallels between himself and Stuart. It's enough to make him wonder exactly what Sera and Ben talk about in their spare time. He'd ask them, but he has the feeling he's better off not knowing the details.

It doesn't occur to him until much later that 'not alone' equals 'with Jared' in his mind.

 

* * *

 

Jensen is unaccountably nervous as the end of the day draws closer. He's okay as long as he's doing a scene, focusing on work to avoid thinking about how far he's letting himself be drawn under Jared's spell. As soon as the scene cuts, however, he's back on the merry-go-round of fear and hope and the endless, mindless refrain of _What the hell am I doing?_ that's been haunting his thoughts since March. Two months later and he still has no idea, and the worrying thing is, that doesn't scare him the way it should.

The problem with getting involved with Jared is this: Jensen has spent the last seven years without him, and it sucked. And now that they're back together, kind of—Jensen isn't ready to think about it in terms more concrete than that—it's really fucking hard not to fall into the familiar rut they make together, especially with the way Jared is behaving. Seven years was long enough for Jensen to forget how a six-foot-four man can make himself so utterly cute that Jensen has to constantly fight to keep his hands to himself.

What makes it even harder is that Jared is making it really fucking clear that Jensen can put his hands anywhere he likes.

So yeah, Jensen is nervous. He jumps any time Jared comes within five feet of him, and he drinks so much coffee that he gets totally wired, and by about nine-thirty that night he's jittery and skittish as hell and he all but yelps aloud when Jared comes up behind him and puts a casual hand on his shoulder.

"You about ready to go?"

Jensen blows out a heavy breath, willing his heart to stop pounding so hard.

"Yeah, sure," he says. "Just let me take a quick shower and change out of this stuff." He gestures at Stuart's outfit, a soft powder-blue sweater and jeans a little tighter than Jensen is really comfortable in.

Jared surveys him from head to foot with one searing hot glance.

"Don't change on my account," he says, low and intimate, and seriously, Jensen can't take much more of this. He doesn't know if Jared's joking or not, doesn't know if he wants it to be a joke, and it's fucking with his already fucked-up head.

He grunts a noncommittal sound in reply and beats a hasty retreat to his trailer, where he takes the world's fastest shower and slides gratefully into his own beat-up jeans, boots and black button-down shirt. He's finding it far too easy to slip into Stuart's mindset as it is; he doesn't want the clothes making things worse.

He drops his costume off at wardrobe on his way back to meet Jared. When he gets there, he finds Jared deep in earnest conversation with Sera, and for a split second he experiences a flashback to the show's wrap party, and his step falters. Jared's head is bent down next to Sera's dark curls, and Jared's hand is resting on her back, and Jensen feels sick looking at the pretty picture they make.

Then Sera looks up and smiles at him, and Jared follows her gaze a second later and his entire face lights up, even though Jensen only left him fifteen minutes ago.

"Hey! You ready?" he asks, reaching out his fist. Jensen bumps it with his own and spares a smile for Sera, mentally dragging himself over hot coals for being such an ass. He's jealous of something that doesn't exist, something he could've had but steadfastly refused to allow himself, and really, the whole situation is fucking ridiculous.

"Let's go," he says, with forced enthusiasm. "I'm starving. I was thinking ribs, maybe some pool, if you're up for it."

Jared's smile dims a little.

"A bar?" he asks, and Jensen shrugs in the affirmative. "Uh. Well, if you want. I was kind of hoping for something a little more ..." He waves a hand, searching for a word.

"Relaxed?" Jensen guesses.

"Intimate," Sera supplies. Jared and Jensen choke in unison, and she grins brightly. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I've got my own man waiting for me at home. Have a good night, boys."

She turns to go, and Jensen sees her throw a quick wink in Jared's direction. Before he can ask what that's all about, Jared's slinging an arm around his shoulder and shepherding him toward the parking lot, and Jensen's having enough trouble trying to control his reaction to Jared's warmth pressed all along his left side to try and question his motives.

"So where do you want to go?" he asks, as they say good night to various crew members and head for Jensen's car.

Jared makes a 'hm' noise in his throat, pressing in closer for a moment as they maneuver around a set of lights being dismantled by a group of grips.

"I could go for Italian," Jared says. "There's a little ristorante I know that has the best lasagna I've ever eaten outside your mama's kitchen."

Jensen has the curious experience of boggling slightly at hearing Jared say _ristorante_ with a completely straight face, and at the same time feeling his chest go warm and tight at the obvious fondness in Jared's voice when he speaks of Jensen's mother. It's altogether weird and somehow awesome, which is how he finds himself seated at a tiny table in said restaurant a short while later, because he loves Jared, but if anyone's going to judge their lasagna against his mama's it's going to be him.

They're mostly silent as they peruse their menus and place their orders. It's comfortable, if a little expectant on Jared's part; Jensen did after all invite him out, and he should probably start the conversation. But for now he's content to just sit here and quietly revel in this moment, having Jared here with him, about to share a meal with him for the first time in years.

They haven't done this since before the show ended; when Jensen and Danneel got engaged, things had already started to change. It showed first in things like missed dinners, and then entire weekends where they didn't see each other, wrapped up in their future plans, their separate relationships, when before they would spend almost every waking moment together. It's good to look across the table and see Jared now, evidently content in Jensen's company with nothing else on his mind but a good meal and some conversation.

Jensen has a lot more than that on his mind, but he's trying not to think about it.

"So how are things?" Jensen says, figuring it's as good a starting point as any. "What've you been up to since, uh."

"Since the show ended?" Jared smiles wryly, putting down his menu and raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, Jensen, do you really want to sit here and make small talk with me?"

That's the least of what Jensen wants to do with him—it doesn't even register on the list—but he can't make himself say that, so he shrugs awkwardly.

"I don't really know how to start," he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm a little out of my depth here."

"This was your idea," Jared points out calmly, taking a sip of water. "Why did you ask me out?"

"I don't know." Jensen huffs out a frustrated breath. "I just ..."

_I missed you._

He can't say it, but Jared must see something in his expression because his gaze changes, becomes less detached, a little more hazel than green.

"Okay," Jared says, reaching across to touch Jensen's hand with two fingers. "It's okay, J."

"I'm sorry," Jensen blurts out. He can feel his face going redder by the second. "That's what I wanted to say."

He feels incredibly stupid, but it's like a huge weight has lifted off his chest, and he's having trouble keeping the words in now that the worst is over.

"I know I was a dick and it was hard on you, dealing with my shit, and I just, I wanted to apologise. For fucking it up, for saying no. For asking you to let it go when I—I couldn't. For the last, I dunno, _decade_. And—and for the other night, too. For ... hell, everything, I guess." He stares at the table, stabbing a fork over and over into the white linen tablecloth, feeling heat spill over his cheeks. "Fuck. I'm screwing this up. I'm sorry, but I just want—I want us to— _fuck_."

He hears how that sounds, and another hot flush comes over him because in the end that is what he wants, it's exactly what he wants, but he wants so much more than that and he can't fucking say it. He's conditioned himself a little too well; the walls are too high, the locks too tight. He's going to sit here and brood until Jared gives up and goes home, and every twisted moment of wanting he's ever suffered will have been for nothing.

"Hey." Jared's hand covers his this time, and he doesn't pull away. Jensen looks up and sees Jared looking at him, completely open, totally serious. "You didn't fuck anything up, Jensen. Not really. You're here, and I'm here, and that's all that matters." He squeezes Jensen's hand and lets go. "Besides," he says, settling back into his chair, "you're not the only one to blame, you know. I'm a big boy. I bet I could've changed your mind if I'd argued hard enough."

He sounds perfectly relaxed, as if they're discussing the weather or an old debate about rival sporting teams. It has a calming effect; Jensen's mouth twitches into an unwilling smile, remembering their one and only confrontation about the idea of the two of them together, as guarded and mostly unspoken as it had been.

"Oh, yeah?" he challenges, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't know, man. You seemed to be arguing pretty hard back then, if I remember right."

Jared leans in, his voice dropping to a low purr, eyes gone molten gold.

"Trust me, J," he says softly, "if I'd really wanted to change your mind, you would've known the difference." He pauses for a beat, then adds, "And don't even think about apologising for the other night, because I sure as hell am never gonna be sorry about that."

Jensen stares at him for an eternity, forgetting where they are, forgetting the fork in his hand, forgetting to breathe for a minute until someone wearing too much perfume walks by and makes him choke. He coughs and reaches for his water as his eyes tear up, thankful for the distraction, and doesn't dare to look in Jared's direction again until he's sure he won't leap over the table and attack him in public.

Maybe this dinner wasn't such a good idea after all.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere changes after that. Jared sits back and asks about his folks, and they both relax and talk of other things while they eat. Jensen asks after Sadie and Harley, missing them after all this time, and Jared tells him that they're as adorable as ever, though Sadie is slowing down with age. They discuss their respective work prospects, Jensen thinking over his choice between a stint on _Leverage_ working with Christian, or a role in Peter Jackson's second _Temeraire_ movie. Working with Jackson is one of his dreams, but if he signs on for _Leverage_ he'd almost certainly get to direct, and that's a hugely tempting prospect.

"That's a tough choice," Jared agrees when Jensen fills him in. "Especially with your hard-on for wide angle lenses. Or any kind of lens." He grins when Jensen scowls at him. "Don't deny it, you know it's true. You jerk off over Steadicam catalogues, don't you?"

Jensen stammers, his retort fading away unspoken because the truth is quite different. He's spent hours with his hand on his cock recently, remembering every inch of Jared's features; the curve of his lips, the sharp angle of his jaw, the wicked tilt of his eyes; the smooth competence of his hands, so rough and tight on Jensen's skin, so gentle on other breakable things.

He watches Jared's eyes turn smoky, then hot, sees the lust-flush rise up along cut-glass cheekbones and fade away as Jared takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. The sound hisses along Jensen's nerve endings, tying him up in ever tighter knots of want and fear and doubt and need until he's about ready to scream.

"I'll be right back," Jared says, and hurriedly leaves the table, heading for the restrooms at a fast clip. Jensen stares after him with his heart pounding, gripping the table to disguise his shaking hands, wondering what the fuck is going on in Jared's head.

When Jared comes back he seems determined to forget that anything happened. He sits down and cheerfully asks Jensen's opinion of the lasagna, attacking the remains of his veal parmigiana with a little too much enthusiasm.

"It's good," Jensen admits. He makes a note to never bring his parents here for dinner. "Jared, listen, I—"

"Did you want dessert? The tiramisu is fucking orgasmic—" And now it's Jared's turn to stammer, glancing at Jensen before he looks at the table with a rueful smile on his face.

"This isn't going so well, is it?"

"It's—not what I'd imagined," Jensen says, but Jared's embarrassment is making him feel better, because it's proof that he's not alone in this. "On the other hand, I was afraid you'd say no and we wouldn't be here at all, so, you know." He shrugs. "It's a win in that context."

Jared looks oddly wounded by that; a look of resolve settles on his face, his eyes dark when he meets Jensen's gaze.

"I would never say no to you, Jensen," he says quietly. "Never. Understand?"

Jensen nods, because his voice has deserted him. He understands Jared very clearly now, and the knowledge is terrifying.

 

* * *

 

They don't stay for dessert.

Jensen's fidgeting on the sidewalk while they wait for his cab; Jared offered to drive him home, but that's too much temptation for one night. Jensen has some thinking to do, and having Jared just a few convenient yards from his bedroom would not be conducive to getting it done.

He considers it anyway, because it's Jared, and he's only human.

The cab arrives before Jensen can change his mind. He turns to Jared and scratches nervously at the back of his neck.

"Uh, thanks," he says. "For this, and everything else. I know I said it earlier, but it bears repeating."

Jared steps forward and puts his hand over Jensen's on his neck, holding tight, a not-quite-hug.

""Anytime," he breathes into Jensen's hair. "You know that, J."

Jensen grits his teeth against the need to step into Jared's warmth, lose himself in it forever. He has to think about this, away from Jared so his mind is clear. But knowing that doesn't stop the wanting, the wish that Jared would just make the decision _for_ him—that he'd kiss Jensen, right now, shove him in Jared's car and kidnap him, take the choice out of Jensen's hands. Jensen wants that so much he can almost taste it. He can feel Jared trembling with the need to do it, and the control it takes for him to hold back.

"I. I have to go home," he manages, clearing his throat. "I need to think. I'm kind of fucked up, man."

Jared knocks his forehead gently against Jensen's and steps back, letting his hand fall. Jensen feels cold without him.

"Okay," Jared tells him. "You do that. And you call me, okay? Anytime. I mean it." His gaze drills into Jensen, demanding an answer, and Jensen nods involuntarily.

"Yeah." He gets it.

_Jared_ gets it, gets the turmoil that's messing with his head, and it's fucking amazing but he shouldn't be surprised. Jared has always understood Jensen better than anyone. It helps to remember that, but it doesn't stop his craving for a kiss.

"Fuck's sake, stop looking at me like that and get in the fucking cab," Jared rasps, and Jensen startles, slides into the back seat without another word.

He turns around as they pull into the street, watching Jared watching him until the darkness swallows him.

 

* * *

 

That night, Jensen lies awake until the small hours of the morning, arguing with himself, wrestling with his choices. He falls asleep as the first light of dawn starts to creep across the horizon, his cock lying limp and spent on his thigh, sheets rumpled and stained, Jared's face, hands, body at the forefront of his mind.

When he wakes, he's no closer to making a decision, but he knows what he doesn't want. The last time he said 'no' to Jared, they didn't speak for seven years and it felt like he'd fucking died inside. Jensen never wants to feel like that again.

 

* * *

 

"--and then he took me to the park, you know the one with the view? And then--I swear, I'm not making this up, okay--and then he reaches behind a tree and produces this picnic basket out of nowhere, and we ate chocolate dipped strawberries and drank champagne and seriously, Stu, I think I'm in love."

Yvonne pauses for breath for the first time in five minutes, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining as she tells Stuart about her date with her newest guy. Stuart has to admit the guy--he's forgotten the name; Luke? Lionel?--sounds pretty amazing; unlike Yvonne, however, this only serves to make him suspicious. Stuart's rapidly becoming aware that if someone appears to be perfect, it's likely they're really, really not.

He can't stop thinking about Jack, and what a disaster their date had been. Well, not a disaster, precisely; he supposes it went well enough for a first date in the ordinary scheme of things, except for the lack of kissing. And that's the problem right there, because--kissing? They totally have that part down already. The whole 'first kiss' stigma is already over and done with, because he and Jack kissed before they even met properly. Stuart is at a loss to understand why Friday night was so horribly, awfully _straight_.

_Maybe he's in denial_ , Stuart thinks, but then discards that idea. The way Jack had looked at him the day they met, when he'd found Stuart in the cafe--no straight guy had ever looked at him like that. Actually, none of the guys he'd actually dated had ever looked at Stuart like that. Like Jack was hungry, and Stuart was a hot fudge sundae with a cherry on top. So, no. Definitely not straight. But that was the easy explanation, and without that Stuart has no idea what to think, except that ...

"He's having second thoughts," Stuart murmurs aloud, his stomach falling straight to the ground. Yvonne stops midsentence and smacks his shoulder, hard.

"He is not," she declares, looking affronted at the idea. "Haven't you been listening? I just said he wants us to go away together next weekend! If that's second thoughts, I'm the Dalai Lama." She leans in closer, lowering her voice even though they're alone and the café is closed. "I think he's planning, you know," she says with a wink. "Something _special_."

Stuart smiles, because he really is happy for Yvonne; she rarely manages to find a guy who makes her glow like this, and it almost never lasts. The guy turns out to be married, or a loser, or suddenly gets arrested or discovers he's gay. But it seems like she's hit on a keeper this time, and Stuart hopes it's going to work out.

At least one of them has found the guy of their dreams. Stuart had hopes for Jack, but after Friday night, and the total lack of communication since then, he has a sinking feeling those hopes are going nowhere.

 

* * *

 

The next time Stuart sees Jack, he's prepared. He offers a friendly smile, a casual greeting, and doesn't say anything about last Friday night. If Jack just wants to be friends, Stuart can do that. It's not all he wants, but he's not going to force himself on the guy. He's got some limits, after all.

Jack completely shatters his composure by leaning on the counter and flirting like crazy, and Stuart's back to not knowing which way is up.

"Hey, stranger," Jack drawls, looking Stuart up and down with a hot smile. "How've you been keeping?"

"Oh, you know," Stuart says with a shrug, fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his apron. "Work, home, sleep, et cetera. My life's not exactly a whirlpool of excitement."

"I bet that's not true," Jack says, twirling one of the complimentary coffee stirrers between his fingers. "I bet there's all sorts of fun things you could get up to, if you wanted. If you had the right sort of ... motivation." He looks at Stuart with heavy-lidded eyes as he says it, and Stuart nearly drops the triple layer chocolate fudge cake in his hands.

That was a little more than friendly, he thinks wildly. And so is the way Jack is leaning on his elbows on the counter, rolling a coffee stirrer around in his mouth and showing a hint of tongue here and there. Stuart feels sweat break out in the small of his back, his forehead, under his arms.

"I could always use a some fresh motivation," he says, sliding the glass display case door closed. He turns and looks directly at Jack, returning the once-over, letting Jack see his interest plain and clear.

Jack smiles, slow and easy, pushing himself up off the counter, teeth white and sharp clenched around the coffee stirrer.

"What time do you get off?" he asks, straight out, no pussyfooting around.

Stuart tries to resist, but it's just too good an opportunity. "That depends," he says coyly, wiping down the counter for stray crumbs.

"On what?" Jack asks.

"On how nice you treat me when I finish work at six," Stuart says with a grin. It takes a second for Jack to get the joke, but when he does his face lights up and his smile is pure sex, and Stuart needs the next four hours to be over, like, now.

"I'm gonna treat you like a king," Jack promises. "In fact, by the end of the night you may never walk properly again."

"We'll see," Stuart says, but he can't stop grinning, and he doesn't protest when Jack reaches over the counter and pulls him in for a quick kiss.

"This is crazy, right?" Jack whispers into his mouth.

"Totally insane," Stuart whispers back. He grins against Jack's lips. "Let's do it anyway."

"Oh hell _yes_ ," Jack says vehemently, and kisses him one more time before pulling back abruptly. "I'll see you here at six," he says, walking backward out of the store. "Sharp!"

Stuart waves in reply, still smiling. He doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

The kissing is the worst part. Jensen can deal with everything else: the flirting, the eye contact, the teasing banter that's so reminiscent of himself and Jared he sometimes forgets he's speaking words that aren't his own. Stuart and Jack are the perfect romantic comedy couple, funny and sympathetic and so right for each other it makes Jensen's heart clench, just a little. But he can deal with all that—it's just a movie, after all. Just words on a page that he and Jared bring to life. It's hard to maintain a sense of wonder when you spend half an hour going over a single line of dialogue to make sure it has a 'natural' ring to it.

The kissing, though—that's different. That's the one thing Jensen can't handle. Every time Jared kisses him it feels real, and Jensen is fast losing his ability to conceal what it's doing to him. He knows Jared suspects something; with every new take there's a little less Jack and a little more Jared in it, in the way Jared bites gently at his bottom lip, his hand on the back of Jensen's neck, steadying him, keeping him still. Jensen holds the flashbacks at bay until the scene is done, but the minute they're released he's heading for his trailer, head down, projecting _Do Not Disturb_ as hard as he can.

Jared doesn't say anything when they're ready for Jensen's coverage, but then, he doesn't really have to. His eyes don't leave Jensen for a second, and each time their eyes meet, Jared's gaze says more than enough.

_Say yes. Please. Let's do this for real._

The fear is still there, but it's getting harder to ignore the wanting.

 

* * *

 

Jensen's ready this time. He knew the first Stuart/Jack kiss was scheduled for today, and he came to set fully prepared for it to be shifted from its middle-of-the-day placement to first or last or anything in between. He'll get through this final kissing scene without embarrassing himself or falling to pieces, and then it'll all be over and maybe he can get some peace.

"Ready to do this?" Jared asks him on set, eyes bright over the rim of his coffee cup. He seems excited for some reason; this makes Jensen suspicious, and he peers into his own cup before taking a cautious sip. He's been the victim of Jared's salt-in-the-beverage prank way too many times.

"Guess so," he says with a casual shrug, looking around the set, trying as always not to be obvious about avoiding Jared's gaze.

He hears Jared sigh, sounding kind of frustrated, and feels Jared's hand on his shoulder a second later.

"Jensen, hey," Jared says, and his voice is both weary and gentle. "Would you just—would you just look at me? Please?"

Jensen is so surprised by that open plea, he turns before he can think better of it, and looks straight at Jared for the first time in weeks. Jared looks tired somehow, although his skin is glowing with health and his eyes are clear. It's not a physical thing; he looks beaten down, resigned, and something in Jensen's heart tears a little as he takes in the sight of Jared at the end of his rope. Because that's what this is.

"What's up?" he makes himself ask, because yeah, he needs to protect himself, but he can't see Jared like this and not try to help. Even if it costs him his own peace of mind. Jensen's own problems aside, Jared used to be—still is—his closest friend, and he owes Jared something for that. He owes Jared a lot, period.

"I don't know. Everything?" Jared grins, but his body language is still on the kicked-puppy side of things. "I just—I don't know, man. We're nearly at the end of this gig and aside from, well, everything ..." he makes a 'you know' sort of gesture, not spelling it out. "You're standing right in front of me, but ... I miss you. I keep turning around to tell you stuff and you won't even look at me. It's like you're not even here." He shrugs and laughs, a quiet, short-lived sound. "Pretty stupid, huh."

He looks at Jensen with something that's trying to be his old familiar smile, and the tear in Jensen's heart begins to bleed.

"You're not," he says, and his voice is rusty-sounding. It almost hurts to talk. "I mean, it's not. Stupid. And it's—it's not just you. I get it, Jared." He swallows, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. "I miss you too. And it's my fault."

"No, hey, I didn't mean—" Jared starts to say, but they're interrupted by Bob's voice floating over from his perch behind the monitors.

"Can I get some actors front and centre, please? We are on a schedule here, gentlemen."

Jared exhales heavily and rolls his shoulders, moving away to his first mark with obvious reluctance. He keeps his eyes on Jensen right up until the cameras are rolling, and Jensen matches his gaze, unable to look away.

They get through the first scene of the day in only a few takes. It's a scene without dialogue; Stuart sees Logan and Yvonne at the altar, except Stuart thinks Logan is Jack. Jensen's both thankful for the distance the scene requires, and resentful of the thoughts it puts into his head. Stuart thinks Jack has been cheating on Yvonne with him, and he's horrified and guilty about being the 'other woman'; Jensen, meanwhile, is essentially holding out on Jared for no good reason, except his own insurmountable fears. Of the two of them, Jensen thinks Stuart is more balanced—he might think what he's been doing is wrong, but at least he's doing something. Jensen is afraid to act at all.

More accurately, he's afraid to drop the act and let Jared in. He wonders how long Jared will keep trying before he gives up for good.

 

* * *

 

Stuart's hurrying down the street, carrying a latte and checking his watch and trying to look both ways while he crosses the street, and then his phone rings. So he's rummaging one-handed in his bag for it, not looking where he's going when he makes the safety of the opposite curb, and that of course is when it happens.

He runs smack into something hard and warm and solid, and he hears the doomed splash of coffee before it really registers what he's done, and by the time he looks up and sees what he's run into it's already too late to stop.

The guy he's just run into, the guy who grabs his arms to try and steady him and then breaks his fall when that fails ... this guy is absolutely gorgeous. Stuart's actually a little stunned, which is why he doesn't do anything to try and keep his feet, because he's not entirely sure where his feet are right now. The dizzying falling feeling he's experiencing is exactly right for what's going on inside his head--there's a flash of _Oh my God who is this guy?_ , and it seems perfectly reasonable that Stuart would be unable to stand up or move away or do anything but stare into pretty hazel eyes and think (already) increasingly raunchy things about that soft mobile mouth.

That mouth is moving right now, bending and shaping around words that Stuart can't hear; it's like the entire world has slowed down so he can appreciate the beauty of this man in front of him, the man who's keeping him close, heat zinging between their bodies and wow, this guy even smells like coffee, which is just the clincher, really--

\--and then the sidewalk rears up and smacks him in the head, and Stuart remembers what just happened.

" _Ow_ ," he exclaims, and then, "Oof!" as he bounces off his saviour's rock-hard abs and ends up on the sidewalk beside him. The guy leans over him, braced on one arm, a look of concern on his face and his bangs hanging sexily over his eyes.

"Hey, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, I was looking the wrong way--" the guy begins to say, and then his hand slips and his weight crashes down onto Stuart's chest and Stuart can't breathe.

He finds that he doesn't really mind, though; he might be literally struck breathless by this guy, but it's not like it's unwarranted. All that strong hard heat is pressed up against him from chest to knee, and Stuart's head is still ringing from connecting with the concrete, so when the other guy falls on him Stuart just smiles and drags him in and hazily decides to find out of those lips are actually as soft as they look.

They are. They absolutely are, and they're already parted as if inviting him in. Stuart dives in delightedly, tongue edging around and coyly flirting, exploring the edges of his teeth and then retreating back into his own mouth in a game of hide and seek. It takes a second, but the other guy follows his lead, hesitantly pushing his tongue into Stuart's mouth as if unsure of his welcome. Stuart twines his own around it, sucks on it gently, and he's really starting to get into it, moving his hands up to grip at the other guy's hair when he realises they're lying on a public street and he's still holding his empty latte cup.

"Oh, _God_ ," Stuart blurts right into the guy's mouth, eyes popping open wide. "Oh man, I am so sorry--what the hell am I--no, Jesus, I'm sorry, let me just ..."

He starts wriggling to get away, and the guy takes the hint and rolls off him, lying on his back on the sidewalk like he hasn't got a care in the world. Both of them are gasping a little, because holy hell, what a kiss, and Stuart can already feel the blush heating his cheeks. He can't bring himself to look over for the longest moment.

"So, uh," Stuart says at last, cutting his eyes to the left. "That was kind of embarrassing. Er, sorry. Again."

The other guy's sitting up now, ignoring the people who stare as they walk by. He's watching Stuart with a tiny grin on his face, a little flushed from the falling and the kissing, or at least Stuart hopes it's from the kissing, because if he's going to start molesting total strangers in the street he wants to at least be good at it. Especially this time.

_God_ , this guy is cute.

"Don't worry about it," the other guy says, waving a hand airily. "Happens all the time." He grins a little wider, and seriously, Stuart can see how that might happen. He wants to maul the guy all over again, only this time with non-head-injury-related intent.

"Let me ..." Stuart begins, staggering to his feet with a groan. He leans over and offers a hand to help the other guy up. "Oh man, your shirt!" He stares in horror and masculine appreciation, because the poor guy's pristine white shirt is now wearing Stuart's latte, which is a downer, but the up side is he wears a coffee-soaked tuxedo really really well. There are things going on under that shirt that Stuart would like to see up close and without a layer of wet cotton to shield them from his eyes, but he figures that's probably not the appropriate thing to say right now. Damn it.

"Okay, seriously," he says, tearing his eyes away from the guy's chest and looking up to meet his amused gaze. "On a scale of one to ten, how much have I ruined your life today?"

"Hm." The guy puts a finger on his chin and taps it a few times, eyes narrowed in mock consideration. His gaze moves over Stuart from head to foot and back again, that smile changing, growing sly and considerably warmer. "About a minus seven, I'd say." He plucks at the front of his clammy shirt. "It would've been a minus ten, but I haven't paid for this shirt yet."

"Oh, hell." Stuart rubs his hands over his face and reaches for his wallet. "Look, let me help you out with that, okay? I mean, this is my fault. I ran into you, and that's my coffee all over your shirt. It's the least I can do." He flicks through the bills in his wallet, but stops when a warm hand covers his and squeezes lightly.

"Don't worry about it," the guy says again, a bit lower this time. "I really don't mind. Considering what I got out of the whole thing, that is." He grins and winks, and Stuart flushes a little more and clears his throat.

"Yeah, uh." He fumbles his wallet away, nearly dropping it. "I don't normally, uh, do that kind of thing. In case you were wondering."

"Good to know," the other guy says, still holding Stuart's free hand. "I don't normally play along with that kind of thing. Just in case _you_ were wondering."

"On the many occasions that kind of thing happens?" Stuart asks, raising an eyebrow and trying not to grin.

"Exactly." The other guy seems to realise he's holding Stuart's hand, and lets go with what Stuart hopes is reluctance. "Um. I kind of have to be somewhere, otherwise I'd buy you another coffee to make up for this one." He gestures at his sopping chest, and Stuart has to fight to keep his eyes above the guy's neck. "Sorry."

"Uh, sure," Stuart says, because what the hell else do you say in that situation? He gives a sort of pathetic half wave, still cradling his open messenger bag and the empty coffee cup, then realises what an idiot he must look like and tosses the cup away. The guy leaves him with another breathtaking grin before he turns away and is lost in the crowd, and Stuart feels like all the light has gone out of his day.

He fishes around in his bag looking for his phone; his fingers brush against an unfamiliar object, and he pulls it out to look. It's a small document folder, and it's not his. Stuart stares at it for a second before he realises it must belong to the other guy, the kissing guy, and then he jerks as if someone stuck a knife in him and looks wildly down the street.

The guy is long gone, of course; or at least Stuart can't see him, and he flips open the folder to look for a name or a phone number or any way he can get in contact with the guy to return it to him. There's all sorts of weird stuff inside: fabric swatches and shirt buttons and what looks like a set of measurements, but there's also a business card tucked into the flap at the front.

Jack Dancy. That's the guy's name. Stuart takes a moment to savour it, and then he starts walking up the street, in the opposite direction that he needs to go, ignoring his phone as it starts to ring again in his bag. There's a chance Jack might still be around here somewhere, and if he is, Stuart needs to give this back to him. And possibly get his home number.

 

* * *

 

On the last day of shooting, Jensen wakes up feeling more rested than he has in weeks. He hums under his breath while he shaves and smiles at Phil, his driver, when he comes to take Jensen to set. There's a buzz in the air today, the excitement that comes at the end of a project, and Jensen is far from immune. He exchanges grins with everyone he sees on his way to set, all the way through wardrobe, hair and makeup.

"Hey," Jared greets him when he arrives. "You look pretty happy."

"Hey yourself." Jensen steals Jared's coffee, takes a sip and hands it back. "Last day today. Guess what I'm looking forward to."

"Sleeping until noon?" Jared says with a grin. Jensen nods and fires a finger-gun at him in approval. "Man, I don't know how you book any jobs at all, with your lazy ass habits."

"Excuse me, I am a fucking professional," Jensen says. "I only indulge my lazy ass habits on my own time. Starting tomorrow." He takes another sip of Jared's coffee and sighs. "I'm gonna stay in bed all day and eat room service and watch TV, and then I'm gonna get in the jacuzzi for about an hour. And then? Then I'm going straight back to bed. That is my plan, my friend."

He raises an eyebrow and glances over at Jared, smirking, but Jared isn't grinning back. Jared's watching him with the same heated look in his eyes that's been haunting Jensen, sleeping and waking, for weeks. He's been holding back, not standing too close, not saying anything even remotely out of line, but that look is always there, buried under the friendship and the boundaries Jensen's still keeping between them.

Jensen realises with a dull shock how accustomed he's grown to seeing that look. He thinks again, _Last day today_ , and the day doesn't seem so bright anymore.

"Sounds pretty awesome," Jared says huskily. He clears his throat, his tone shifting to something more reserved. "You've earned it. You've done a good job here, J."

"Ah, come on." Jensen waves his hand dismissively. "I had the easy part. You're the one doing all the hard work."

He means the movie, and Jared's double role in it; playing one character is usually work enough, and Jared's not only playing two characters, but twins. Keeping up with that amount of dialogue is something they were both used to on the show, but it's never easy, and on top of that Jared has to deal with the gay/straight dynamic. It's a lot to retain. Jensen realises with a guilty start that he hasn't exactly been making things easier.

None of that seems to be occurring to Jared, though. He's still looking at Jensen with thinly-veiled want, and the crooked smile on his face warms Jensen all the way through.

"It's not hard at all, man," he says quietly. "Not with you."

Standing there in the middle of a frantic movie set, face to face with the one person who has always had the power to completely fuck him up, Jensen finally gets it. It's never going to be over. This shoot will end, and they'll go their separate ways, and maybe they won't see each other for weeks or months or years—but he's always going to feel like this. Eleven years and five months of denial haven't changed a fucking thing.

Jensen is suddenly, fiercely glad to be here, to have another chance at this. He lets it show in his face, lets himself smile and look straight into Jared's eyes, and feels Jared inhale sharply from three feet away.

"Jensen—"

"Places!" The first AD calls. "Jack and Stuart, please. It's our last day, gentlemen, and time is short."

Jensen forces back the nervous rush of words in his throat and heads to his mark, looking over at Jared. He gets a piercing look in response, and Jared mouths, _Later_ , and he guesses that will have to do. He nods, then rolls his neck and shoulders, calling up Stuart's first lines. There'll be plenty of time for himself and Jared when this is over. They've got all the time in the world.

 

* * *

 

"Cut! Print!"

They wait for the all-clear from sound, and then Bob comes out from behind the monitors. He gathers first Jared and then Jensen in for a hug, and stands back with a hand on each of their shoulders.

"That's a wrap for you, boys," he says. "Well done."

Jensen doesn't even try to stop the grin that spreads over his face. He knocks his shoulder into Jared's, puts his fist out for a quick bump, and it's like he's twenty-eight again and they've gone right back to the beginning.

They get a quick round of applause as they leave the set. Jared makes a grandiose bow with a lot of arm-waving and a fancy leg; Jensen takes a moment to prod the back of his knee, making him stumble, and they end up roughhousing their way across the lot. Jensen's heart is in his throat; he feels lighter than air, watching Jared watching him, knowing what's going to happen when they get behind closed doors. There's still talking to do, and lots of it, but for the first time Jensen is confident that they can do this. They _will_ do this. He's ready.

"Jensen! Hey, Jensen, wait up!"

He turns and sees Tony running to catch up, waving a sheaf of papers over his head. Jared pauses beside him, waiting to see what the problem is.

"Hi," Tony pants, leaning over to catch his breath. "Sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you leave."

"No problem," Jensen says. "What's up?"

"Nothing major. This is just a rough schedule for some ADR, and we've left some blank spots for reshoots if they're needed." Tony points out a few dates here and there. "Nothing's solid; this is just the first stuff we've gotten from editing, so it'll probably change, okay? I just wanted to make sure you didn't jet off to the Bahamas or something, in case you didn't know about this."

"Okay." Jensen takes the schedule and rolls it into a cylinder, smiling. "Thanks, Tony. And hey, thanks for your help around here, man. It was fun, huh?"

"Absolutely," Tony agrees, beaming at him. "Uh, but I have to go," he adds, shooting a look over his shoulder. "See you around, guys."

He takes off at a run as someone yells his name in the distance. Jensen chuckles and shakes his head, turning to Jared.

"Cute kid," Jared says. The corner of his mouth kicks up. "Think he's got a crush on you."

"Don't be an ass," Jensen says. "He was nice."

He shoves Jared's shoulder as they start walking again. Some of the giddiness has worn off, adrenaline fading him his system, but he still feels like a strong puff of wind could lift him clear off the ground. He sneaks glances at Jared, walking close enough that their shoulders are touching, and it feels like an affirmation.

"Oh, hold on," Jared says, stopping suddenly. "I need to go to wardrobe. I was late coming in," he explains. "Had to get changed on the spot instead of in my trailer."

"And you left your clothes there?" Jensen guesses. "Dude, they'll have put them back for you by now."

"No, they didn't," Jared says. "Nicola's off sick and she has the spare key, so I told them to just hang onto it all and I'd come pick it up. I'll just be a minute." He waves his hand in the direction of Jensen's trailer. "Go get changed and whatever. I'll come get you and we'll get dinner or something, okay?"

"Or something," Jensen repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Okay."

Jared's answering grin is brilliant.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jensen is showered and changed and Jared still hasn't come by. He checks his watch again and mutters under his breath. Usually he's the one running late.

"What the hell, Jared," he says aloud, and then, "Oh, fuck it."

He locks the trailer door behind him, heading for the wardrobe department. It's not that he _can't_ wait for Jared to come back; he just chooses not to. There's a difference, he assures himself. It has nothing to do with him being impatient to pick up where they'd had to leave off earlier.

Five minutes later he enters the wardrobe department, looking around for Jared. There are people everywhere, handing out costumes to background performers, making alterations, racks of clothes coming and going for cleaning or inventory. Jensen hands over Stuart's final outfit and stays out of the way, looking over everyone's heads.

Jared's not here. Jensen frowns, flagging down one of the seamstresses.

"He was here a minute ago," she says. "Saw him over there somewhere, talking to Susie." She points off toward the racks of clothing lined up along the wall.

Jensen heads over there, impatience now curling in his stomach. They have plans to make, he and Jared, and every minute that delays those plans is a minute wasted. He plunges into the racks, searching up and down the aisles between them.

He finds Jared in the third aisle, between Yvonne's waitress uniforms and Logan's wedding tux. There's a girl tucked up tight against his body, her arms around his neck as they kiss, Jared's hands wrapped around her delicate wrists.

He must make a noise, because they spring apart like teenagers caught necking at the drive-in. Jared lets go of the girl and flings one hand out, wordlessly begging Jensen to stay. The girl—Susie—is already backing away, wiping her mouth and stammering something, but Jensen can't hear her.

"Oh," he says tonelessly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, Jensen, wait," Jared says, stepping forward. "This isn't—I _swear_ , Jensen, please just listen—"

A minute ago he was flying; the crash, when it comes, is going to be unbearable.

Jensen turns and leaves without another word.

 

* * *

 

This time he doesn't go to the wrap party. He already knows how that would end.


	6. Chapter 6

**NOVEMBER, 2016**

The week before they start promotion for the movie, Jensen sees Jared on the red carpet of some premiere or other, talking with a reporter from ET. Jared's dressed in a sharp black suit, all stark lines and crisp white shirt, towering head and shoulders above most of the people milling around. Jensen pauses in his channel-surfing, letting a slow whistle escape him at how good Jared looks. They haven't seen much of each other these past six months; Jensen's been filming in Prague, and he's also been hiding a tiny bit. Or maybe that's a load of crap, and he's been hibernating, refusing to do anything beyond his bare minimum contract requirements, even getting his groceries delivered.

On the other hand, Jared hasn't exactly been ringing his phone off the hook or beating down his door, so Jensen figures he's not the only one to blame.

It's then that he notices that Jared isn't at the premiere alone.

"Who is this lovely lady you're escorting this evening, Jared?" the reporter asks, and Jensen focuses sharply on Jared's face, his easygoing smile, looking for a sign that this is significant.

"This is Laura, she's a good friend of mine," Jared says, patting the blonde's hand threaded through his arm. "She took pity on me and said she'd come out tonight instead of staying home to wash her hair. Doesn't she look pretty?"

Laura twirls obligingly for the camera, a friendly smile on her face. She and the reporter exchange chitchat about Jared and the movie for a few seconds, and then they move on. Jensen's gaze stays pinned to her the entire time as he tries to place her and fails.

Whoever she is, Jensen doesn't recognise her. She's not Jared's usual type; she's tall and blonde and leggy, dolled up prettily in a slinky red dress. She doesn't appear to be a starfucker, at least not an obvious one. Jensen wonders where Jared found her. He's tempted to call Jared right now and ask, but he doesn't quite want to embarrass the guy that much. Not on live television.

He ignores the part of him that really doesn't want to know who she is, and how much she means to Jared, because denial is easier. So he forces himself to keep flicking channels until he finds a _Simpsons_ marathon—there's always one of those playing somewhere in the world—and makes an effort to think of other things.

It takes him four hours of tossing and turning that night, imagining Jared twined around that pretty blonde in bed, mouth and hands marking her up good, to make Jensen confess to himself that maybe denial isn't going to work this time. Not anymore.

"Damn it, Jared," he groans into his pillow, punching it into submission. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

_Would it really matter if he did?_ a small voice in his mind asks. _If he were to turn up tomorrow with a girl on his arm and a ring on his finger, would it really change a goddamn thing?_

The answer to that question keeps him awake for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

**DECEMBER, 2016**

They start the round of lunchtime chat shows, breakfast shows, late night talk shows and radio interviews the following week. Jensen always hates this part of the job, mostly because every time he does it he feels like a talking Ken doll. It's not that he minds promoting the work he's done; he wouldn't do it if he were ashamed of it. No, the worst part is going around the circuit of the zillion shows on air these days and saying the same damned thing a zillion different times and trying to make it sound fresh. Occasionally he'll get an interesting question, but those are few and far between.

Of course, it's been a long time since he's done any promotion with Jared there to ease the way. He'd forgotten how much fun Jared can be when he has a captive audience. They're booked on Leno, Ellen, Tyra, and they've got the SNL hosting gig in a few days' time. Jensen's looking forward to that. Jared's not so sure about it, but Jared's never had a lot of confidence in his own comedic skills. Jensen's not worried. They'll be fine.

They've drawn a truce of sorts. Jared doesn't mention what happened at the end of filming, and Jensen goes along with it, even though the guilt is eating away at him. He's run away from Jared one time too many, and now it seems the damage is pretty much final. Jared's made it very clear how things stand between them. He remembers the single conversation they had about it, when they first met up again for the promo tour.

_"I don't want to hear it," Jared says, cutting into Jensen's apology, eyes shuttered. "Enough is enough, Jensen. I can't do this with you anymore."_

_"So, that's it? No explanation, you're not even going to try?" Jensen asks. He sounds like he's begging, and he doesn't much care._

_Jared looks at him with sad eyes, but his mouth is resolute._

_"There's nothing left to try for, J," he says. "You don't trust me. You've made that pretty clear. I can't fight that. I'm done."_

_"You said you'd never say no to me," Jensen says desperately._ Please _, he adds silently._ Oh God, please. __

_"Maybe I wouldn't be," Jared says, "if you'd ever said yes to me."_

_He turns away, leaving Jensen gaping open, his heart in pieces._

Jared doesn't hate him. Jensen should probably be grateful for that, but truthfully, that's what hurts the most. If Jared hated him, at least it would mean he still cares. The way he hams it up with Jensen for the cameras and then reverts to total indifference is worse than outright hostility.

They get through most of the gauntlet of shows without a hitch, Jared doing the lion's share of the talking and Jensen falling back into his old habit of throwing in the occasional dry comment or playing straight man to Jared's goofy. He thinks they're getting a little long in the tooth for that sort of thing now, but the audience seems to lap it up, so they play off of that a little more as the three weeks go by. Jensen avoids being alone with Jared whenever possible; it makes things more awkward, but it's better than the alternative. Jensen really doesn't want to know what he'd do if he threw himself at Jared's feet and Jared walked right by.

There are more premieres, naturally. It's coming up to Christmas and their own premiere is only a week away; they both have to be seen around, selling themselves and the film. Jared does his part with apparent good humour, appearing with a different girl on his arm every time. Jensen gets Angie to set him up with a date exactly once; after that turns out to be a complete disaster—a fake redhead half his age who drank like a fish and ate nothing but organic kelp and rice crackers all night—Jensen decides to hell with the whole thing. He's too fucking old to be playing games. He wants Jared. If he can't have him, he's not going to settle for a substitute.

Jensen appears at a few gigs here and there—nothing flashy, but one or two red carpet events that require something dressier than a sport coat. At the premiere of the new Bond flick, he gets cornered by someone from The Insider before he can gracefully slip inside.

"So Jensen, you've got a little celluloid Christmas gift of your own coming out shortly," the guy—Michael, Jensen remembers—chirps brightly at him. "When does _Swings And Roundabouts_ hit our screens?"

"December sixteenth," Jensen says, returning Michael's smile with decidedly fewer teeth. "The premiere is coming up in just a few days, though."

"You and Jared must be looking forward to that." Michael doesn't wait for an answer. "How much fun did you guys have working together again?"

"Oh, it was a blast," Jensen says easily. "Me and Jared, we've always been pretty close, so it was like old times on set. Yeah, we had a ball."

"It's a shame he isn't here tonight," Michael says mournfully. "I know a lot of our viewers can't wait to see you two sharing screen time again, and we hear your off-camera antics are even more fun!" He beams, cap-toothed and plastic down the eye of the camera, then turns back to Jensen. "And you're here alone?" He makes a show of searching the crowd. "There have been rumours of a reconciliation with your ex-wife, Danneel Harris. Can you tell us—"

"No," Jensen cuts in, less politely now. "That's incorrect, I'm afraid. Danneel and I are definitely not getting back together. We're good friends and we keep in touch, but that's all."

"Any other hints of romance on the horizon, then?" Michael presses, undeterred.

Jensen opens his mouth to dodge the question, but that's not what comes out.

"I'm hoping there might be," he says instead. "There's someone I'd like to be with who turned me down recently, and I'm hoping they'll reconsider."

Michael's mouth falls open a little in shock. Jensen's brain yells at him to shut the hell up, but this is oddly exhilarating. He's always been so fucking careful, and look where it's gotten him: nowhere. Alone on a garish red carpet baring his soul to a TV gossip journalist. Jensen thinks with sudden recklessness, _I can't possibly screw things up any more, so ... fuck it._

Fuck it _all_.

"Really," Michael says, recovering quickly from the sight of Jensen Ackles discussing his private life. "Can you tell us who this person is? Maybe we could twist their arm for you a little," he adds with a grin that's actually kind of charming.

"I don't think so," Jensen says, chuckling. "I want to improve my chances, not ruin them." He winks at Michael to take away the sting. "Besides, I'm kind of hoping they see this for themselves and figure out how much I ... well." He stops and tugs at his collar, trying not to flush. "I think you get the idea."

"I think we all do," Michael says. He's looking at Jensen with a little awe and a lot of admiration. "Whoever they are, they're lucky. I know plenty of people would love to have you pining after them. I hope it works out for you. Thanks for speaking with us tonight, Jensen."

"You're welcome."

Jensen smiles briefly into the camera and turns away. His heart pounds with nervousness all the way past the gathered paparazzi and up the stairs of the theatre, until he reaches the relatively quiet interior. He collapses against a wall for a second, taking deep breaths.

_What the fuck are you doing?_ the sane part of his mind demands. _Photographers will be following you for_ weeks _trying to find out who your fucking mystery person is._

That doesn't really matter. They won't know he was talking about Jared, and Jensen doesn't plan on seeing anyone else, so the issue is completely moot. He straightens away from the wall and tugs at his tie, heading into the darkened theatre.

Two hours later Jensen's phone buzzes in his pocket. It's a good excuse to slip outside; he's a lukewarm Bond fan, but Daniel Craig has never really done it for him. He finds a makeshift alcove behind a potted palm in the lobby and checks his voicemail. It's Angie. Jensen doesn't listen to the message, just dials her cell. Best to get it over with quickly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, shooting off your mouth without talking to anyone first?" she demands, and it only goes downhill from there. She rants for a good five minutes, talking about the fires that Martin, Jensen's publicist, is going to have to put out, and how Jensen's probably just ruined his chances at whatever action roles he might have been in the running for, by coming across as a total lovesick cupcake on camera.

"Cupcake?" Jensen objects mildly. "I wouldn't go that far. Pie, maybe. Cherry pie."

"You really have gone off the deep end, haven't you," Angie says with a kind of wonder. "Who the hell did this to you? You're all ... gooey."

The distaste in her voice is so pronounced Jensen can't help laughing.

"Never mind," he tells her. "It's not a problem, Ange. I just wanted to know what it was like to tell the truth for a change."

"Well next time, run it by me or Martin first," she shoots back. "We'll tell you how much truth is useful, okay?"

Jensen winds up the call after some profuse apologising and a promise to buy both Angie and Martin breakfast—no doubt so they can berate him some more in person. He shakes his head as he puts his phone away, his smile fading as he remembers Angie's words. He doesn't want to think of Jared that way. Jared isn't _useful_. He's irreplaceable. He's necessary. And Jensen isn't willing to pretend he's anything else. Not anymore. Not ever.

 

* * *

 

The following day the media is abuzz with speculation. Jensen keeps the TV off, avoids the newspapers and spends the day listening to his iPod. It's a fairly relaxing way to deal with the situation. His phone rings nonstop, but he lets everything go to voicemail until his mailbox is full. He keeps checking the caller ID, though, just in case.

Jared doesn't call. He also doesn't email, text, or send a carrier pigeon, and his Facebook status remains blank.

 

* * *

 

It comes to a head on the night of the Los Angeles premiere, three days later. Jared turns up unexpectedly, arriving on Jensen's doorstep at six-thirty with a bright smile on his face and a limo idling at the curb.

"Hi," Jensen says slowly, looking at Jared and then at the uniformed chauffeur at the end of the drive. "Did I miss a memo or something? I thought we were going to meet at the theatre."

"Change of plans," Jared says. "I thought it'd be fun if we went in together, you know? It's the premiere, and all."

He looks a little nervous, and Jensen's incapable of stonewalling that. It seems he hasn't managed to kill the last feeble seeds of hope inside him, because one look at Jared's face and Jensen is ready to go anywhere, do anything, anytime.

He doesn't deserve this chance that Jared's handing to him, but he's not going to turn it down.

"Are you asking me to be your date to our premiere, Mr Padalecki?" he says, letting one corner of his mouth curve up. "Because I have to tell you, I'm not that easy."

Jared's grin is near to blinding. "Oh, come on," he wheedles, knocking his fist lightly against Jensen's shoulder. "I sprang for champagne and everything. Besides," and here the fist loosens, becomes an open palm smoothed over Jensen's arm, sliding down to tangle their fingers together. "A little bird on the internet told me that if I turned up here tonight, you probably wouldn't say no."

Jensen starts at those words, eyes flying to meet Jared's gaze. Serious hazel eyes stare back at him, wide and waiting, and Jensen knows just from that look that Jared's seen The Insider clip. He takes a shaky breath, returns the gentle pressure of Jared's hand before he lets it go.

"Oh well, in that case," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Far be it from me to turn down free champagne."

He grins at Jared's relieved chuckle and pats himself down, making sure he's got his wallet and keys. He notices Jared watching him out of the corner of his eye, and it's the old look, the one from years ago, before everything got so messed up between them. Jensen's heart races a little faster, and he's standing a little straighter when he turns around.

"All right then," he says. "Let's do this."

Jared offers his arm with an innocent grin; Jensen smacks him upside the head and shoves him out the door, his heart lifting at the sound of Jared's laughter. A tiny spark of hope flares to life, fanned by the look in Jared's eyes. Maybe it's not too late, Jensen thinks. Maybe they can do this after all.

 

* * *

 

It's a little ridiculous how crowded the sidewalk is at the theatre. The usual roped-off area and red carpet deal is the same, but Jensen's never seen this many people at one of his movies before. Of course, it's not just his movie; it's Jared's as well, and maybe that accounts for it. But given the plot of Jensen's half of the movie, and the defiantly happy ending, he's surprised to find so many people turning out for the event.

He guesses they're hoping to see his secret crush, or whatever the gossip rags are calling it. Jensen smiles to himself; Jared's kind of hard to miss.

It's pleasing anyway, rather than irritating, and that's a nice change. Jensen lets the glass of champagne he had in the limo loosen him up a little; he smiles and waves at the crowd, stops to sign a few autographs for the people who are closest, and even pauses to let the paparazzi get their snaps in. That's Jared's cue to leap on Jensen's back, or straddle his leg, or do something equally ridiculous, but he doesn't do any of that.

Instead, he comes up alongside Jensen and stands there with him, one hand on Jensen's back, down low, and the other tucked casually in his trouser pocket. Jensen feels Jared's warmth all down the left side of his body, and the pressure of his hand above Jensen's ass, and it's one of those moments in time where everything seems to just ... stop.

He looks over at Jared, turning his head just slightly to keep it from being obvious. Jared's smiling and waving too, calling out to a few people in the crowd, thanking them for coming. He's not cavorting around or pulling faces or treating Jensen like his own personal scratching post; he's just standing there, waiting, apparently content to stay in one place and amuse himself until Jensen's ready to move on.

Well. This is new.

Jensen's not exactly against playing up for the cameras. God knows he loves doing comedy, and he _is_ an actor; if he didn't like having an audience he'd be in a different profession. But there's always been a difference between what he does and what Jared does in public. Jared is—or was—less controlled, more exuberant, whereas Jensen likes to premeditate things. But now it seems Jared has overcome that particular impulse, at least temporarily, and the result is startling. He appears more mature, more commanding somehow, and the idea makes Jensen shiver. This is Jared Padalecki, finally all grown up.

Jensen thinks maybe it's time he grew up a little himself.

 

* * *

 

It's dark inside the cinema, even with the house lights on. People are filing in, sequins and shiny fabrics catching and glinting in the dim lighting. Jensen watches the beautiful people of Hollywood finding their seats, sees them looking around to find out who's here, who's looking, who they can see, and he nods at the people who catch his eye. All the while, he's acutely aware of Jared sitting right beside him, the faint scent of his cologne, the lean strength of his arm resting half an inch from Jensen's own. Jared's fingers are tap-tap-tapping lightly on the armrest they share, a quiet little beat that follows the pounding of Jensen's heart. He hasn't seen the movie before tonight, not even a rough cut. He's looked at a few dailies here and there, and that's it. This will be the first—and possibly the last—time he ever watches himself kissing Jared Padalecki on screen.

The lights go down, and the stage lights come up briefly. Bob and Sera and Ben are standing in front of a lectern with a microphone. Jensen has a brief moment of terror when he thinks he and Jared are supposed to go up there; after a second, though, Bob begins to speak, and Jensen relaxes. It's the usual 'thank you for coming, this is a special screening for the film's sponsors' kind of speech, and neither he nor Jared is expected to do anything but sit here and look pretty. And presumably, not throw up.

"Calm down," Jared whispers in his ear. "The damn movie hasn't even started yet and you're jittering like you just drank five espressos."

His hand comes out of nowhere in the dark, fumbling around until he finds Jensen's hand and grips it tight. Jensen holds his breath and tries not to twitch; Jared's hand is warm and slightly rough, and the thought of all the things that hand could do to him—has done already—makes Jensen suddenly glad he's sitting down.

The opening credits of the movie begin to roll. Jared doesn't take his hand away, just squeezes lightly and rests their entwined hands on Jensen's knee, his thumb stroking idly over Jensen's wrist. It's distracting enough that Jensen forgets to be nervous about watching himself on screen. He focuses on the soft back and forth movement of Jared's thumb, his skin becoming sensitised to the light touch until Jensen's whole hand is tingling. It's the best ninety minutes of his life, sitting there with Jared's hand gripping his own, and afterward Jensen can't remember a single thing about the movie.

Except for the kissing, of course. He remembers the kissing. During their first scene, the one where Stuart and Jack meet, he feels Jared's grip tighten around his hand, and his stomach turns a slow, shivery somersault in his gut. The second time, the grand finale, Jared lifts their hands in the darkened theatre and presses a gentle kiss to Jensen's knuckles, his bangs brushing across the back of Jensen's hand.

Jensen kind of loses track of things after that.

He doesn't usually stay for the entire duration of a screening; usually he grabs a seat somewhere as close to an exit as he can and sneaks out during an appropriately distracting scene, and is already three drinks in front by the time everyone else makes it to the party. Tonight, though, he stays in his seat until the final credits are well into rolling and the theatre is two-thirds empty. Jared sits there beside him, holding his hand, his thumb still doing that magical swipe-glide over Jensen's skin.

Jensen has spent a good portion of the last hour imagining that touch on his entire body. He's so turned on he can't breathe properly. This is not exactly the ideal state to be in when he has a post-premiere party to attend.

"You ready to do this?" Jared murmurs after a few minutes, and Jensen thinks for one freaked-out second that he means something else entirely.

Then he remembers that there are reporters outside, and photographers, and he has to put his professional face on and pretend to be completely unaffected by the fact that he knows what it's like to kiss Jared. That he knows what Jared tastes like, how soft his lips are, how he likes to bite just a little and how his teeth are slightly crooked on the left side. Jensen's supposed to stand up and go outside and face a couple dozen camera flashes per second, and he's supposed to smile and pretend that having Jared pressed against him from shoulder to knee for hours at a time meant absolutely nothing to him. That it was routine. That it was _work_.

"I don't think so," Jensen says, half to himself. "I don't ..." He shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. "Fuck it," he says. "Let's just get it over with."

He stands up and straightens his shoulders, rolling his neck to try and dislodge some of the tension. Jared puts a hand on his neck and squeezes gently, and Jensen tenses for an entirely different reason.

"And then what?" Jared asks, looking at him intently. Jensen takes a deep breath.

"And then, I think we have some talking to do. Or, I hope we do. Anything after that is up to you."

It feels almost anticlimactic. So many times they've come close to doing this, and so many times Jensen or the timing or the circumstances has stopped them. But this time there's nothing keeping it from happening. Jensen feels slightly giddy at the thought, and he grins at Jared's dumbstruck expression.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Jared's hand again. "Time to get this show on the road."

As they leave the theatre, Jensen towing Jared behind the last few stragglers in the audience, the film's tag line runs through his head on a loop. _What you lose on the swings, you get back on the roundabouts._

He really hopes that saying is true.

 

* * *

 

They spend a couple of hours at the party, mingling with the press and the other guests. Jared sticks by his side the whole time, as if he's scared Jensen will run off given half a chance. In the past, Jensen concedes, Jared would've had a point. But now Jensen isn't going anywhere unless Jared is right there beside him.

It's nearing midnight when Jensen decides it's time to leave. He's smiled for enough cameras and given enough soundbites; it's time to go home and enjoy the sensation of finally being done. He looks around for Jared, who disappeared a few minutes earlier to grab a final drink.

At first he can't see him. Jared's tall enough, sure, but there are a lot of people in this joint and Jensen can't actually see the bar from here. He stands on a chair to get a better view, eyes roving over the dozens of people in expensive suits and dresses, more jewellery and Botox on show in this one room than Jensen's ever seen in his life. He bets if he were to fling a spitball into the mass of people it would rebound half a dozen times before it actually hit a surface that didn't have a synthetic compound injected into it.

He still can't find Jared, though. Jensen squints to aid his focus, forgetting that he doesn't have to anymore, and goes over the crowd at the bar again, looking more carefully. He's already gone past the dark-clad male back two-thirds along the polished surface of the bar when he realises it's Jared and doubles back.

Jared's bent over, head down next to a tiny brunette who is gesturing expansively and smiling up into Jared's face with a very familiar expression in her eyes. Jensen reads her body language in about half a second and his stomach drops into his feet.

_Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding_ , Jensen thinks blankly. _Talk about history repeating._ A twisted smile tilts one corner of his mouth. He's definitely been here before. He doesn't remember it hurting quite so badly last time, though.

This is why he doesn't get too close. This. This is the one thing he could've sworn would never happen to them again. That just goes to show how much he should rely on his own judgement, because there's Jared grinning and laughing down at the tiny pretty brunette, and there's her hand on his arm, long red nails looking like ownership already. And here is Jensen, standing on a chair in the corner with his mouth in a tight line and his jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. His hands are fists; he shoves them into his trouser pockets to hide them from anyone who might be looking.

Jared. Jared is looking. Jared is looking over at him and seeing his face. Jared is turning back to the girl and telling her something hastily over his shoulder, already walking away from her, back to Jensen through the crowd. Jensen's not waiting; he jerks his head sharply toward the exit and leaves Jared behind, weaving a path through drunk and high partygoers, dodging champagne glasses and cigars and searching for the door. He needs to get out of here before Jared reaches him. Whatever's going to happen between them now ( _two hours holding hands in a darkened theatre, ending and beginning with a kiss_ ), it can't happen inside.

He spots a gap in the crowd and through it, a glowing green neon sign with the most beautiful word in the world: EXIT. Jensen dives into the gap, shouldering past couples and groups with barely a word, shrugging off the men's pats on his back and the long, languid arms of the women reaching out to bar his way.

_What the hell did I come here for?_ he asks himself bitterly. _Why bother going through all of this, if it's only going to end the same fucking way?_

He escapes outside into the cooler, less perfumed air, gasping lungfuls of Los Angeles smog instead of Chanel and Calvin Klein. Jensen leans back against the wall next to the door and waits for Jared, watching traffic go by on the street. He wants to go home and hide, drown his sorrows, but first he wants answers.

He waits for almost ten minutes, and Jared doesn't come.

Jensen squares his shoulders and steps away from the wall, deliberately turning his mind to the task of getting home, and nothing else. He's at the curb, looking out into traffic for a cab, when he feels Jared's hand on his shoulder.

"Jensen," Jared says in a quiet voice, just barely loud enough to be heard over the traffic. "Jensen, what are you doing?"

"It's getting late," Jensen says, not turning around. "Time for those of us pushing forty to head home." He stares into the street, eyes stinging with the need to blink. Or at least, that's what he tells himself it is.

Jared laughs behind him, a short, cut off sound. There's no humour in it. "What, and you weren't going to wait for me?" he asks. "Nice, J. That's real nice. Thanks."

Jensen hears the hurt in Jared's voice, the disappointment, hell—the _anger_ , and he whips around before he can think better of it.

"No. You don't get to do that," he hisses, stabbing his finger into Jared's chest. "You do not get to stand there and try to make me feel guilty when you were in there thirty seconds ago up to your neck in brunette." He curls his lip. "Is she waiting in your car, Jared? Or did you send her on ahead to meet you, once you get rid of me?"

He drops his hand back to his side, making another fist, one he's not sure what to do with. Jared's staring at him in astonishment, his changeable eyes wide, the colours melting and changing so fast Jensen can't keep up. Jensen blows out a breath and shakes his head, stepping back.

"You know what? Forget it." He waves his hands around wildly. "Just forget I was even here, Jared. You're better off that way. You just, you fuck me up too much. I'll see you when I see you, okay?"

He turns his back on Jared, who's still standing there looking like he's been hit with a two by four. Jensen can't stand to see him looking so confused, when it's clear to anyone with half a brain what he was doing inside. And Jensen doesn't blame him; not really. The girl was pretty, and Jared's only human. And it's not like he and Jensen have any kind of—

"Oh, no you don't," Jared breathes in his ear, and that's all the warning he gets.

Jensen has no time to react before Jared's grabbing his shoulders and all but frogmarching him back to the theatre, shoving him up against the wall around the corner of the building. There's a small niche there, formed by an overhanging street light and the protruding playbill screens on the front of the building. Jared shoves Jensen into it and looms in front of him as if he's the villain of some melodrama and Jensen is the fainting heroine. Except that's not what Jensen is at all; he gets his shoulders behind him and shoves right up into Jared's space, and that's when things get ... interesting.

"You don't get to run away this time," Jared growls in his face, shoving Jensen back again with both hands on his chest. "This time, you're going to stand there and look at me and believe me when I tell you that _nothing fucking happened._ "

Jensen snorts, looking away, refusing to meet Jared's eyes. Jared doesn't give an inch; he stays right where he is, uncomfortably close, close enough that Jensen can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. Close enough that their shadows in the glow of the street light appear to be one person, a mutated two headed organism with a single beating heart. It reminds Jensen of the old Greek myth about soul mates, and for a second he wants to scream.

"Whatever," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on then, say what you want to say."

Jared puts both hands on the wall over Jensen's shoulders and leans in until their noses are almost touching.

"The girl inside," he says in a low voice, "wanted to know if I was free after the party. Or at the party. Or whenever I might have time for her. She made that real clear, Jensen." He leans in a little closer, skims his nose down the side of Jensen's face, over his jaw. "She told me she was mine for the taking. Said she knew she was exactly my type, and she knew how to have fun."

Jensen makes a cut off choked sound in his throat, every muscle in his body going stiff. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

"Know what I told her?" Jared presses a gentle kiss to Jensen's neck, where his loosened tie lies in the hollow of his throat. "I said, 'Thank you, darlin', but I've already got all the fun I can handle.' And then I turned around and saw you looking for me." Jared pulls back a little, smiling down at him. "I guess she didn't realise my type has changed."

He reaches out and traces the freckles over Jensen's nose, following the curve of his cheekbone upward.

"I wasn't kissing that girl in the wardrobe department," Jared says softly, finger brushing featherlight over Jensen's eyelashes. "She kind of started crying and threw herself at me, and I was trying to make her let go when you found us." His eyes are dark and serious, fixed on Jensen's face. "I wish you'd let me explain it then, but I have my pride too, you know?"

Jensen swallows hard, opens his mouth to apologise. Jared's hand slides down to cover his mouth briefly, then settles on the side of his neck.

"It's okay. It's okay, Jensen. I think I finally understand what's been going on in here." He taps playfully against the side of Jensen's head, smiling just a little. "Let me spell it out for you, just in case.

"I'm not gonna sleep with that brunette. It took me ten minutes just to get away." He rolls his eyes briefly, then turns serious again. "It's never going to be anyone else, Jensen. Not for me. Hasn't been for a long time, if I'm honest. There's ... there's just you, okay? Just you."

Jensen can't quite take it in, what Jared is telling him. It's his worst fear made reality: Jared faced with a choice, the normal, safe, wise choice of a pretty, willing girl who'll fuck him, but won't fuck him up ... or Jensen, who is well aware that he's a prickly son of a bitch to deal with at the best of times, and is all but intolerable when he feels threatened.

Jared has chosen him.

He doesn't know what to do. For one of the few times in his life, Jensen is actually, literally struck dumb. He's spent so much time over the years protecting himself from this very situation, from the chance that Jared would turn him down, that he has no idea how to respond. Jared should make the safe choice, the sane choice, the same choice Jensen made once upon a time. And yet ... he hasn't. _Jared wants him._

Jensen stares at him for the longest time, searching his face for something, anything, to indicate that Jared isn't telling the whole truth. Jared just stands there and lets him look. He keeps his gaze squarely on Jensen's, hands still firmly planted on the wall over Jensen's shoulders, barely a hand's width of space between their bodies all the way down. He stands there and waits without any sign of impatience until it finally starts to sink in that yes, there apparently is a Santa Claus, and he's giving Jared to him for Christmas.

Well, deck the fucking halls.

 

* * *

 

"So, uh. What you're saying is, we should probably get a cab?" Jensen says, clearing his throat.

Jensen might be a little crazy right now. It's not every day your deepest, most heartfelt, most secret desire walks up to you on a street in West Hollywood and offers you everything you've been dreaming of for years.

Jared's laugh is low and intimate and warm and very, very suggestive. "Yes," he agrees. "Soon. Preferably five minutes ago."

Jensen takes a deep breath and nods, straightening up against the wall. "Okay then." He slides away from Jared's body, just in case he loses all self control and forgets where they are. "Taxi!"

Wonder of wonders, there actually is a cab on the street at that exact moment, and it stops when Jensen yells. He stares at it in confusion for a second, because that sort of thing only ever happens in fiction; on the other hand, Jared is climbing into the back seat and looking at Jensen and crooking his finger with a smile, and Jensen at this point is learning not to look a gift horse—or cab—in the mouth. So he tells his brain to shut up and gets in the car.

Jared gives the driver directions to Jensen's place, which Jensen takes to mean that Jared's place is currently such a pigsty it would make his mother cry. This is fine with Jensen; he's had a recurring fantasy for a while now about what Jared would look like spread out across his deep green sheets. He doesn't want to get ahead of himself, here, but if the way Jared's looking at him across the width of the seat is any indication, there's a fairly good chance Jensen's going to find out.

He lets himself revel in that look for a few seconds, eyes flicking from Jared's scorching hot gaze to his parted lips to the way Jared's hands are clenched tightly in his lap; after that, Jensen makes himself face the front of the car, looking out his window as the city slides by in what feels like slow motion. He can feel Jared's eyes still on him, but he can't turn to look. If he looks, he's going to touch, and the poor cab driver doesn't need that kind of emotional trauma in his life.

So he grits his teeth and digs his nails into his palms and keeps his eyes on the street outside, seeing colours and lights flashing past but not taking anything in but the scent and sound of Jared beside him, one leg barely brushing against Jensen's. Shortly after that, Jared's hand sneaks over the invisible line between them to grip and loosen Jensen's curled fingers, twining them together.

They don't talk; there's nothing but road noise and the soft sounds coming from the driver's radio, what sounds like a late night station playing power ballads. 'Love Song Dedications', or something like that. Jensen's maybe listened to it once or twice before. Or maybe every night for the past six months, staring at his bedroom ceiling waiting for dawn.

The ride to his apartment is quicker than he expected. There isn't much traffic on the road, and they make good time. Jensen's out on the curb and reaching for his wallet before he's quite got his head around the idea that they're even coming here; let alone what they're—hopefully, God and Jared willing—going to do once they get inside.

Jared looks at him hesitantly as Jensen collects his change from the driver.

"I ... could go, if you want," he offers, his mouth quirking nervously. "I mean, I know back there we kinda ... but I just, I dunno. I thought, in case you changed your mind, or needed some time, or whatever?"

Jensen shakes his head and reaches out for Jared's hand, aware that it's the first time he's ever made a conscious move toward Jared, seriously, with permanent intent.

"Please come inside," he says quietly, and waits.

Jared's eyes are a little wide, but he doesn't say a word as they walk up the stairs and into the building, and he doesn't let go of Jensen's hand.

Jensen is suddenly horribly, vehemently self-conscious. He fumbles his keys when he opens the door, and trips over the rug in the entry way when they go inside. Jared doesn't say anything; he just shuts the door behind them and flicks all the locks. The snick-snick-snick sounds echo in the quiet apartment. They sound very ... final.

Jared stands there with his back to the door, leaning on it, hands in his trouser pockets. He's looking at Jensen, but he clearly isn't going to make a move. This time it's all up to him.

"So," Jensen says, gesturing awkwardly. "Uh, this is my place."

"It's nice," Jared says, without taking his eyes off Jensen. "It's very you."

"Right. Yeah." Jensen coughs and fiddles with his tie, pulling it off his neck and undoing his second and third shirt buttons. "Uh, you want to sit down, have a beer or something?" he asks, but he's not moving, and neither is Jared, and it's pretty clear they're not going to be able to pretend this is anything but what Jensen desperately hopes it is.

"Maybe later," is all Jared says, and then he's pushing off the door and stalking forward, giving Jensen plenty of time to get away. Only Jensen's feet are stuck to the floor, or something, and he can't move, and so when Jared stops maybe half an inch away from him Jensen is lightheaded from the sheer buildup of tension in the room.

"So what do you think, J?" Jared asks, his breath puffing out against Jensen's lips, eyes hot and roving over Jensen's face. "Are we gonna do this, or what?"

"I," Jensen starts, swallowing hard. He can't think.

They should talk first; there's a lot of shit to clear up between them, and things he wants to say, but his brain won't work and he can't form words, and seriously, he can't do this anymore.

"Oh, fuck this," he growls and pulls Jared in.

Just like that it's 2005 again and he's twenty-eight and Jared is the prettiest thing he's ever fucking seen. But now, unlike then, Jensen goes with his first instinct instead of suppressing it: he shoves one hand in Jared's hair and puts his mouth on Jared's neck, and when he slides up over his jaw Jared's parted lips are right there waiting for him.

Kissing Jared is unlike anything else Jensen has ever done in his life. He's kissed a lot of people over the years, professionally and otherwise, and it's always been ... well, at least _okay_. Kissing someone for the camera isn't nearly as much fun as it looks, but he usually tries to make it a bearable experience for whoever is sharing the scene with him. Personally, Jensen likes kissing. The intimacy of the act appeals to him, as well as the variety; there are hundreds of ways to kiss someone.

Kissing Jared is different. This is the way it's meant to feel—like he's lighter than air and sinking at the same time, silk and velvet, sharp bite and feathersoft touch. He always wants it to feel like this.

The kiss goes on for what seems like forever, but is probably only a few minutes. It's long enough for Jensen to get lightheaded from lack of air; he pulls back and rests his forehead on Jared's neck, looping his arms loosely around his hips.

"Why weren't we doing this years ago?" he asks, lips touching Jared's skin as he shapes the words. "We're good at this."

"Because I'm a fucking idiot, and you're a fucking moron," Jared replies, laughing softly. He slides the tips of his fingers into Jensen's waistband, rucking his shirt up into the small of his back. "And also, we're both really smart," he adds, stroking over Jensen's skin. "We never would have made it if we'd done this back then. We'd have burned out way too fast."

"And now?" Jensen manages, goosebumps rising on his skin. He feels Jared press his whole hand against his back, and it makes him shudder.

"Now? Now things are different. We still have stuff to talk about, but I think we're gonna be just fine," Jared answers, and he ducks his head down to find Jensen's mouth in another kiss.

Jensen gives in to his own urge to touch, the desire he's been controlling for the better part of a decade. He pulls at Jared's tie, loosening it and pulling it off without breaking the kiss. Then he's sliding his hands under the five-thousand-dollar tailored tux jacket, pushing it off Jared's shoulders without a care for where it lands. Jared stops touching him long enough to get the sleeves off his arms; then he's back, hands roving under Jensen's shirt, up his back and around his sides and sliding up to rest over his chest, feeling Jensen breathe.

"God, I want to see you," Jared breathes into his mouth, scrabbling at Jensen's shirt buttons. "I have to see you, Jensen," and just like that the mood turns on a dime. Jensen is breaking away and pulling the shirt over his head, buttons too much bother, and Jared is on him, hands all over him, pulling at his own shirt to get it off and press them skin to skin.

Jensen remembers the day they met, that first look, eyes locking together over a handful of pages outside a Warner Bros conference room. He remembers the shudder that went through him, the quiet click of some essential thing sliding into place inside as Jared looked at him and smiled. He's spent so long trying to avoid it, sure that opening himself up meant total ruin, that Jared wouldn't want it, that they couldn't handle it, that everything they had between them would break down.

"What are you thinking?" Jared asks, framing Jensen's face in his hands. "What's put that smile on your face right now?" He leans in to kiss the smile off Jensen's lips, moaning when Jensen bites at his lower lip, leaving an indent of his teeth when he pulls away.

"Just—that I'm glad we finally got here," Jensen says, feeling a little ridiculous saying it out loud. "I know it was mostly my fault, and I'm gonna spend approximately forever making it up to you, and you're going to make me work for it, but ... yeah." He runs his hand through Jared's hair, pulling him in to kiss him again. "I'm just, I don't know. Happy."

He shrugs, feeling awkward, and flushes when Jared laughs.

"Jensen. Hey, c'mere." He slides his hands down Jensen's back to his hips, tugging him in too close for air. "Don't you know that's all I've ever wanted?"

The look in his eyes is too earnest, too sincere, too heartfelt; Jensen can't take any more of this, he really can't. He groans and rises up to meet Jared's mouth again, and they go stumbling through the hallway to Jensen's bedroom. Jared backs up and stumbles and rebounds off the couch and the hall table and the wall, and every time he laughs it makes Jensen a little crazier. He fights with Jared's belt buckle, his fingers clumsy with lust, and shouts in triumph when he finally gets it to part in his hands. Jared's grin is devilish as he backs up to the bed and stops.

"You know, I'm a little tired," he says, yawning into his hand. "Do you think we could skip the sex tonight and just cuddle instead?"

Jensen's mouth hangs open for a split second, dismay filling him, but then he sees the curl to Jared's mouth and the heat in his eyes, and he steps forward and shoves him down onto the bed, hard. Jared bounces, letting himself fall backward, and Jensen knees his way onto the mattress and straddles Jared's hips, hovering over him on all fours.

He leans in close, their lips barely touching, legs spread wide enough that he can feel Jared's hips pressing up into his, feel the hard length of Jared's cock trying to slot into place between his thighs.

"Yeah," Jensen murmurs, biting gently along Jared's jaw. "Now that you mention it, I'm a little sleepy myself. The sex can wait until tomorrow. Or, you know, whenever. There's no hurry, right?"

"None," Jared gasps as Jensen starts to work his way down Jared's neck. "We could pencil it in for some time next week."

"Awesome. I'll have my people call your people," Jensen says, sucking briefly on Jared's nipple. "Does that sound all right to you?" He sucks a short, sharp kiss onto Jared's collarbone, then goes back up to meet his eyes.

"Perfect," Jared rasps, arms locking around Jensen's neck, keeping him close. "Absolutely perfect."

Jared pulls him in to kiss him again—Jensen can already foresee hours and hours of making out ahead of them, is maybe already planning such a thing—and he has a hand on Jensen's hips, pressing down. Jensen eases his full weight onto Jared's body and starts to bring his legs up, intending to straddle him, but Jared's hand on his thigh stops him. Jensen looks up.

"Uh-uh," Jared says. His grin is wicked, and his eyes flash with heat. "It's my turn." He slides his hand up Jensen's leg and inside the curve of his hip, rubbing slow and hard over Jensen's cock. "I wanna know what this feels like from the inside."

"Fuck." Jensen closes his eyes and thrusts against Jared's hand, trying to keep at least some of his cool. "How the hell can you make me feel like I'm seventeen again?"

"Magic," Jared says into his ear, kissing the skin beneath. "Now shut the hell up and fuck me, 'cause I've been waiting twelve fucking years and we're not getting any younger."

_Twelve years. Twelve years._ The words take on the rhythm of Jensen's heartbeat, edging out everything else but the look in Jared's eyes. There's want and need and happiness there, and so much love Jensen thinks he's going to drown in it.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he says casually, as if he's asking the time. "Because it's a lot, Jared. It's a really fucking lot."

"So show me," Jared challenges him, his eyes almost too bright to look at directly.

Jensen does.

 

* * *

 

Jensen fucks Jared, and the world doesn't end or shake or move, not physically, but it does maybe tilt a little. Jared is warm and smooth and welcomes him in, keeps his ankles locked tight around Jensen's hips, one hand in his already-familiar grip on the back of Jensen's neck. Jensen is gripping handfuls of Jared's hair, sweat slicking up their bodies to ease the glide, and he's leaning down every few seconds for another soul-rending kiss. The whole thing feels unreal, like one of his unmentionable dreams, but Jared's heel is digging into his kidney and Jensen's left knee is twinging, and these little irritations are precious because they mean that this is true. It's happening. He's buried deep in Jared's body, every stroke making Jared cry out and arch against him, grinding their hips together to make it last. Jared's free hand is on his cock, a slow counterstroke to Jensen's fucking, and the sight is so beautiful Jensen has to catch his breath.

"I love you," he whispers again, straight into Jared's mouth.

Jared lets out a low, choked-off sound that Jensen recognises; he kisses Jared deep and fast and then pulls back, watching Jared stroke himself through his orgasm. Jensen's mouth is watering, wanting to taste that cock again, deep-throat it and make Jared scream. Jared shudders every time Jensen fucks in, his legs tightening, encouraging; he lies back flat on the bed, arms up over his head and braces against the headboard.

"Do it," he orders, his voice rough and scratchy with lust. "Harder, Jensen. Wanna feel you for a fucking week."

"I want you to feel me forever," Jensen breathes, and shoves in hard, unforgiving, watching Jared curl around the thrust. He does it again, thighs burning, shoulders trembling with effort, Jared's moans vibrating around his cock, he's so fucking deep. He can't keep this up for long, but it's long enough; he feels the tremors start in his gut, work their way around to his spine, tendrils of pleasure shooting along his nerve endings and making his fingers curl in Jared's hair. He fucks in again, hard enough to move Jared along the bed, and that's it, right there, that's enough. Jensen pulls out and strips the condom off with shaking fingers, grabs Jared's thighs and pushes them flat. Then he rises up on his knees and strokes his cock three, four times, and bites his lip as his come stripes Jared's belly and cock with milky white.

"Jesus Christ," Jared says when Jensen collapses beside him. "Possessive much?" He sounds amused, and completely satisfied. Jensen rolls over onto his chest for a kiss.

"Bet your ass."

"Apparently," Jared agrees, and grins when Jensen laughs. "Fuck, Jensen, I missed you. I was so fucking bored, man."

That sounds vaguely familiar; it takes him a minute to place it, and when he does Jensen starts laughing again. Jared looks affronted, poking at his chest to get him to stop.

"What's so funny?" he demands after Jensen's caught his breath.

"Boredom," Jensen explains. "I just remembered something from my first meeting with Bob and the others, for the movie. He asked how I'd been, and I told him I'd been bored. Really fucking bored. Ben just about killed himself laughing." He props his chin on Jared's chest, grinning at him. "Guess I wasn't the only one."

"Dork." Jared smiles at him, running a finger over Jensen's lower lip. "Let's not get bored again, okay? Because I don't know about you, but it kinda sucked for me."

"Yeah." Jensen nods. "Okay."

In the end, looking at Jared's face, it's the easiest decision he's ever made.

END  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read the synopsis I wrote for the screenplay within the fic, go [here](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/752709.html).


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